Anyway, so after this talk with the Grimm Reaper, and after using Sage Mode to remember those chakra signatures, Seijuro made sure to mark the presence of each soul fragment he encountered—just in case any were found later.
At the moment, he was wearing his Aizen Sōsuke outfit. Yeah. That one.
Currently, he needed the Four- and Five-Tails.
So now... it was time to hunt. And use this little operation to cripple Iwagakure for a long, long ass time.
Time to begin his evil little master plan.
And while sure, Rōshi had nothing to do with any of this—he just had to be part of it. Sometimes that's how the cards fall. Sure, Rōshi would never forgive him for this.
You win some. You lose some.
You can't win them all.
Rōshi stood alone in the clearing, his coat fluttering in the breeze. The man was not foolish—he had sensed something. Someone. An intruder.
Then the air changed.
Or rather—Seijuro, cloaked in illusion. Flawless. Composed. His face hidden, but the white and crimson hair still peeked from under the cloak.
The man wore no headband. And he walked toward Rōshi like he was approaching a fly on the wall.
Rōshi's brow furrowed.
The old Jinchūriki didn't waste words. He flared his chakra, reaching inward toward the slumbering Four-Tails.
But nothing happened.
Rōshi's eyes widened.
Seijuro, still masked, raised one hand and tapped the air gently beside him—a ripple of sealing formulas flared to life across the ground.
"I wouldn't bother," he said smoothly, his voice dripping with that signature Aizen arrogance. "You're standing inside one of my zones."
"A containment field," Seijuro explained calmly, brushing invisible dust from his shoulder. "Chakra inhibitors tuned to bijū-linked frequencies. In simpler terms... you're cut off."
Rōshi growled, chakra flickering through his limbs—but no bijū transformation. No red flames. No molten chakra cloak.
Seijuro smiled politely.
"Oh please. Language, Jinchūriki-san."
Then he began writing seals into the air itself—glowing characters etched with burning precision.
He wrote the fire kanji.
Rōshi had to jump back, narrowly avoiding a fireball that nearly took his head clean off.
As he landed, Seijuro's smirk widened beneath the mask.
"Do not think you can escape so easily, beast."
Then he raised one hand in a single seal.
"Fuinjutsu: Kuro Hitsugi no In."
In an instant, Rōshi was trapped in a black coffin. Inside, the pressure crushed his body, his soul, his spirit. Without access to his bijū, he was cooked.
Thousands—and this was no exaggeration—thousands of cuts began carving through his body.
His body was being shredded in every place imaginable.
Yes, even that was sliced.
The pain was indescribable. Nerve endings lit up with agony. The gravity inside the black box forced him down, immobile, vulnerable, torn apart by invisible blades that sliced through skin, muscle, tendons, and chakra pathways alike.
Thirty seconds passed.
The barrier shattered.
Seijuro walked forward slowly, deliberately, standing atop the mangled, twitching Jinchūriki.
"How pathetic," he muttered before kicking Rōshi in the head.
The Jinchūriki coughed up blood. He couldn't move. The nerves and tendons in his limbs had been destroyed. He was a breathing husk.
Seijuro crouched slowly, gaze calculating.
Rōshi's cracked lips moved. "Why...?"
Seijuro didn't answer at first. Instead, he pressed two fingers to Rōshi's trembling forehead, applying a small burst of chakra—not to harm, but to stimulate awareness.
Just enough to keep the Jinchūriki conscious.
"You're asking the wrong question," Seijuro murmured.
Rōshi blinked, bleary-eyed. "Is it... for the Four-Tails?"
Then Seijuro gave a bitter, joyless smile beneath the mask.
"Tailed Beasts are valuable, yes. But this... no. This isn't about that."
He slowly removed his mask.
The face underneath was young. Cold. Unflinching.
A man in his twenties, with hair split white and crimson.
Silence passed between them.
Rōshi's eyes widened.
He coughed violently, blood spilling down his chin.
Seijuro's gaze sharpened. "Good. You do remember."
Rōshi said nothing—but the shame flickering across his half-lidded eyes spoke volumes.
"You were there," Seijuro said quietly. "The Burning of Uzushiogakure. The Screaming Sea. The massacre of our women and children... you helped."
Rōshi didn't deny it.
"I followed orders," he croaked, barely audible.
And just like that—Seijuro's smile disappeared.
He stood slowly, his voice now cold steel.
"And how far... do you think that excuse carries?"
"'I followed orders' is the anthem of every butcher history ever produced," Seijuro said, stepping away. "It's what the Kaguya said when they impaled babies. What Suna's puppet corps said when they hollowed prisoners for poison testing. And it's what you said... when you burned generations of Uzumaki seal masters to ash."
Rōshi tried to move. Couldn't.
"I was a shinobi," he wheezed.
"And I am a consequence."
Seijuro raised one hand.
"You weren't chosen for your bijū, Rōshi. You were chosen... for your sins."
Rōshi gave a half-choked, bitter laugh.
"Then do it. End it. You want vengeance? Take it."
But Seijuro only chuckled.
He snapped his fingers.
A sealing formula lit up beneath Rōshi, the ground trembling with its presence.
"I will kill you, don't worry. But I'll be using you too."
"After I kill you, I'll kill Han. Then I'll sell your bijū back to Iwagakure at aggressive prices—crippling their military budget. Maybe I'll even use your face to attack the Raikage."
"I'm sure that'll go over well."
Rōshi's breath caught.
"You'll die," Seijuro finished, "but not before knowing you were outplayed by the descendant of the very people you helped annihilate."
Then he pressed a hand to Rōshi's chest.
A sealing flash ignited the ground.
Just like that—the Four-Tails was ripped out. 30% of the beast and its consciousness sealed into a scroll. The other 70%? Absorbed directly into Seijuro.
He was going to use it.
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