Chapter 59: Transplant and Preparation

Gaara POV – Return to Sunagakure

He returned to a village in a perfect state rather than he had feared.

Descending over the blistering dunes of the Land of Wind, Gaara felt the oppressive heat pressing down on his cloak, the sun casting his long shadow across the familiar golden sands. He could see the faint silhouette of Suna's outer walls in the distance, heat distortion making them ripple like a mirage.

And yet, through the relief blooming in his chest, he felt the dull throb of frustration behind his sternum.

Why hadn't he learned Flying Thunder God when he had the chance? Why hadn't he invested even a fraction of his effort into developing a teleportation method of his own? The answer was obvious—logical. Without a formula, a foundation, or a living mentor to guide him, attempting to recreate Minato's technique from scratch would've been the work of decades. He had told himself the investment wasn't worth it.

Back then, it had been true.

But now?

Now, he cursed himself for every day he hadn't spent trying. When he realized that he has been out of suna for a little too long—when he realized he had no immediate way to return to his people—it had carved a hollow pit in his gut. For a moment, he'd felt powerless.

That was when he realized just how much Sunagakure meant to him.

Not as a duty. Not as a weapon. But as something far more personal.

This was his village. Not simply the place he led, but the one he shaped. The massive glass skyscraper at the center of the city—his doing. He had blown the sand himself, liquefied it with precise bursts of flame, and cooled it with tempered winds. A monument of strength and transparency, standing in defiance of the harsh desert.

The lush, irrigated farms on the outskirts—unthinkable once, now thriving—were born of seals he had designed to manipulate wind, shade, and rain, drawn from scrolls he had personally annotated.

Even the bustling markets had been molded by his hand. He'd negotiated with stubborn traders, tweaked import routes, altered tax structures—all with the aim of transforming Sunagakure from a forgotten military outpost into a living, breathing city of prosperity.

And the sewer system—he still remembered the headaches. Literal ones. Weeks of sleepless nights designing a circulation network where every drop of waste was filtered and redirected into the city's underground cooling system. The engineers had called it madness.

Now they called it genius.

He had built this.

Just as Hashirama Senju had raised Konoha from the trees and dreams of peace, Gaara had forged the new Suna with blood, sweat, and sand. His knowledge, his creativity, his unwavering will—all poured into shaping a home that would outlast him.

And in doing so, something strange had happened.

He had begun to love them.

The villagers. The merchants. The farmers. The orphans. The shinobi. Even the stubborn elders who still clung to the old ways. He had fought for them because it was right—but the more he did, the more he saw their struggles and perseverance, the more that fight had become personal.

Each time he solved one of their problems, each time he saw a family smile or a student graduate the academy without fear—he felt it again. That pull. That warmth.

This is mine. These are my people.

And now, as the great golden walls of Suna came into full view, shimmering beneath the desert sky, Gaara allowed himself the smallest smile.

They had endured.

And so would he.

Sunagakure – Kazekage Tower Courtyard

The gates of Suna yawned open before him, and Gaara stepped through without ceremony, though the sentries atop the wall all stood a little straighter. Word spread fast in the desert.

He barely made it halfway through the courtyard before a blur of blond and steel fan slammed into him.

"You absolute idiot!" Temari hissed into his chest, though her grip around his shoulders belied her fury. "You suddenly go missing for days—weeks—and then just stroll in like you were out for a walk?!"

Gaara didn't flinch. He stood still, letting her cling to him, her shaking hidden behind the stiff set of her jaw.

"...I'm sorry," he said softly. "I didn't want to worry you."

Kankurō arrived just behind her, arms crossed but eyes soft. "We're shinobi, Gaara. Worrying is part of the job. Disappearing completely with Konoha ninja? That's something else."

Gaara turned to look at his brother, and despite the exasperation in Kankurō's voice, the older man pulled him into a quick, firm hug. "Welcome back, little bro."

A flicker of emotion—relief, maybe even guilt—passed through Gaara's usually composed features. "Thank you."

"And here I thought I'd never see you again."

Gaara turned at the voice.

Chiyo walked toward them, hunched but steady, her wrinkled hands tucked into the sleeves of her robe. Her old eyes, still sharp, scanned him from head to toe. "You're too much like your father. Always bearing everything alone."

He bowed his head toward her. "I've tried not to be."

She scoffed. "You've done better than him already. But the next time you decide you want to participate in a attack on Konoha, you send a damn message."

Gaara actually smiled at that, and Chiyo blinked, surprised at how young it made him look.

"I will."

The moment hung in the dry air—tension melting, emotions crackling just beneath the surface. They had almost lost him. Again. But he was here now, solid as ever. Their Kazekage. Their brother. Their stubborn, brilliant Gaara.

Kankurō cleared his throat. "So... You back just to say hello, or is there a plan?"

Gaara nodded. His tone sharpened, returning to the calm weight of leadership. "I plan on convening a 5 Kage summit in the Land of Iron.." 

Temari straightened, picking up immediately. "You want to call a summit."

"Not just want," he said. "Need."

Chiyo's brows furrowed. "You're serious."

"I've seen what's coming. The Five Great Nations must speak as one voice now—or fall one by one."

XXXXXXXX

The room settled into silence as I stood at the head of the council table, my fingers laced behind my back. I could feel the gravity of what I was about to say pressing down on the room before a single word left my mouth.

"Let's begin," I said, my tone clipped and controlled. "This won't be a normal report."

The faces before me—elders, advisors, military commanders—shifted into alertness. I let a breath slide past my lips, slow and deliberate, then continued.

"As you are all aware, I took part in an assault on Konohagakure."

Some eyes widened. Others didn't flinch. They already knew.

"This was not an act of aggression, but a mission born of alliance—with Tsunade and Jiraiya of the Sannin, and the Jinchūriki of the Nine-Tails, Naruto Uzumaki. Together, we moved to remove Danzō Shimura from power. His actions—both historical and recent—posed a threat to stability throughout the region. He was a warmonger, and Konoha was crumbling under his rule."

I paused to let them absorb that. I didn't need their approval. Just their understanding.

"The mission succeeded. Danzō is dead. But during the operation, a new player revealed himself. Someone far more dangerous."

I let my gaze sweep across them, then said the name flatly:

"Pain."

A murmur rippled through the room, but I pressed on before it grew louder.

"He confronted me in the heart of Konoha. He wielded the Rinnegan and powers that rivaled legends. He claimed to be the leader of the Akatsuki—and in truth, he believed it."

The room fell deathly still.

"I defeated him."

I didn't elaborate. I didn't need to. 

"But it was after the dust settled that I learned the truth. Pain was not the true leader."

I took a step closer to the table, my voice now sharper.

"There is another. A masked man. He has been orchestrating everything behind the scenes—the Akatsuki, the collection of the tailed beasts, the war that is beginning to brew beneath the surface. I don't know his true identity. He calls himself Madara Uchiha—but I doubt that's the truth."

Several councilors gasped. I let the name hang in the air like a curse.

"He controls the remaining members of Akatsuki. He's responsible for the capture of seven of the nine tailed beasts. The only ones who remain are the Nine-Tails... and the One-Tail. Me."

A heavy pause followed. The implications were setting in.

"Make no mistake—this man is planning something. Something massive. And when he moves, he won't strike one nation. He will strike all of us."

I let those words settle, then straightened my shoulders.

"That is why I propose a Five Kage Summit. We cannot ignore this threat. Not anymore. We must gather the leaders of the major shinobi nations and forge a united response—before it's too late."

No one interrupted me. They were too busy processing the scale of the danger.

"The Five Kage have never been a stable coalition, even at the best of times," Ebizō cut in, giving me a side glance that was more weighted than I liked. "And these are not the best of times."

I turned toward him, my tone sharpening. "Is that your way of saying this is somehow my fault?"

Chiyo didn't wait for him to answer. "In the past decade, you've: destroyed an island near the Mist; leveled several monuments in the Leaf; participated in the destruction of their village twice; led a raid on the Stone; and—intentionally or not—been involved in the deaths of four Kage."

I blinked. "Four?"

"Ohnoki, Kitsuchi, Hiruzen, and Danzō," she rattled off, ticking the names on her fingers like a merchant counting coins. "It's impressive, really. You've managed to concentrate your bloodshed among the elite leadership of every neighboring nation."

"I didn't kill Hiruzen," I said flatly. "That was Orochimaru. And Danzo was an act of liberation."

"Of course, Kazekage-sama," she replied sweetly, sarcasm dripping like poison from her tongue.

I clenched my jaw but pushed forward. "Regardless, we need a strategy. First order of business: reaching out to whatever allies we still have to coordinate messaging before the Summit begins."

"Incredible plan, Kazekage-sama," Inasa muttered, brow furrowing. "Just one question… what allies aside from Konoha?"

I hesitated.

"What do you mean?" I asked, though the creeping dread in my gut already told me.

"I mean," he said slowly, "do we have any aside from your recent allies in konoha?"

"Fubuki," I turned to the elder diplomat, once my father's Minister of Foreign Affairs. "Clarify the current state of our alliances."

He rose slowly, hands shaking faintly, but his voice was clear and unwavering. "There are none except for your very new alliance with Konoha, Kazekage-sama."

"…None?" I repeated, genuinely taken aback.

"Not one," he confirmed. "Under Rasa-sama, Sunagakure had alliances and trade treaties with the Lands of Rivers, Grass, Steam, and Fire, as well as a basic mutual understanding with the Land of Earth. But since your ascension, they've… withered."

"Withered how?" I asked, though I already feared the answer.

"Neglect, my Lord. I made repeated attempts to restore our treaties. When a delegation from the Land of Rivers came to renew a vital water contract, your office was unavailable—preoccupied with your campaign against Iwagakure. Afterwards, medical concerns further delayed any diplomatic activity."

I exhaled sharply. Lack of maintenance? WHAT precisely are you clowns employed for if you can not do something so simple without me.

No. Not just all on them though. I had been the one too focused on war, innovation, construction. I'd buried myself in building the strongest village possible, and ignored the roots meant to connect us to the world.

"What else have I been neglecting?" I murmured to myself, the thought stinging sharper than any kunai.

"We'll repair what we can later," I said at last. "But we proceed with just Konoha as our allies for now."

I turned back to the table. "Assuming standard protocol, I will travel with two guards. My brother, Kankurō, and my sister, Temari."

"Kazekage-sama must take powerful Jounin with him to secure his safety" Fubuki shot up to his feet at my words, like my choice of guards must have been some personal affront to him. 

"To what end? I could kill every Jounin in this village at the same time without breaking a sweat. What would they add to my security that I can not add to myself" I replied.

"Every Kage must be escorted by powerful Jounin, Kazekage-sama. It is not merely for protection, but also to act as a message to the other villages. " Chiyo added in.

"So it's posturing, then," I said.

"Everything is posturing, my Lord," Ebizō replied in Chiyo's stead.

"I understand that," I said evenly. "But tell me—what message is stronger than this: the sons and daughter of Rasa, standing united as they represent Suna? Family loyalty sends a clearer signal than a squad of ANBU."

"Normally, I'd agree," said Tsuyashiro, cool and composed, the oldest among them. "But this is no normal summit. This is a gathering under dire and uncertain circumstances. And the truth that no one here wants to say aloud is this: it's simply too dangerous. If anything happens… we cannot afford to lose all three of you."

"…Fine," I said at last, the words bitter in my mouth. "I will take the ANBU Captain, Dragon, as my sole guard."

That drew a quiet murmur of approval, but I wasn't satisfied. The fire was still there, beneath the surface, simmering.

XXXXX-Scene: Beneath the Kazekage Tower

The chamber was carved directly into the earth beneath the Kazekage Tower, far below the sunbaked sands of my village. No windows. No doors once sealed. Just thick walls engraved with layers of ancient Fūinjutsu.

Chiyo was already waiting inside when I entered—leaning on her cane, her sharp eyes flitting over every seal with quiet approval. Despite her age, she moved with confidence and familiarity. The walls here bore some of her handiwork. She had insisted on performing the procedure herself. Not because she trusted me, but because she didn't trust anyone else to meddle with something so volatile.

"You're sure the room is secure?" I asked, scanning the swirling kanji that danced faintly across the ceiling. Some were mine—designed specifically to counter dimensional-space interference. The rest were hers. Ancient, brutal, precise.

"Five-layered dimensional seals," Chiyo replied, her voice as dry and sharp as wind through glass. "If that masked bastard tries to phase through, he'll get ripped apart by the time-space shredder seals you laid."

Chiyo unsealed the first item from the scroll. A vial. Pale green fluid pulsed inside like living mist—cultured Hashirama cells, retrieved from the loot I acquired from Danzo's Corpse.

"They've been pacified with your blood and chakra signature. This is as stable as it gets. But once injected… they will test your limits."

"I'll endure it."

Chiyo raised an eyebrow at that. "You always do."

She then unsealed the second item.

It stared up at me.

The Rinnegan.

It didn't move, didn't twitch… but I felt it watching me. Cold, ancient, and knowing. The last remaining trace of Madara's legacy. His very own Eye.

A key to victory, or oblivion.

"Are you absolutely certain?" Chiyo asked, cane resting lightly against her wrist as she unrolled the surgical tools beside the eye.

"I can't fight what's coming with just what I have," I said. "If the masked man has seven Tailed Beasts under his control already, then the only thing more dangerous than taking the Rinnegan is not taking it."

She gave a low grunt. Not agreement. Not disagreement. Just resignation.

"Lie back."

I obeyed, lowering myself onto the seal-etched slab. The orb above dimmed as she activated the chakra siphons, and the air grew heavier. There was no noise beyond the drip of sterilizing fluid and the scratch of her sandals against stone.

Then came the needle—piercing flesh above my heart. The Hashirama cells. A surge of raw vitality hit me instantly. Hot. Frantic. Like wildfire under the skin. My veins bulged and trembled. I gritted my teeth and pressed my palm flat against the platform, grounding myself as the power surged deeper.

"Good," Chiyo murmured. "You're absorbing them faster than expected. Now... the eye."

My right side was numbed by her chakra, but I could feel the subtle shift in weight as my optic nerve was exposed, severed, and replaced.

Then the world went white.

Flashes. Shouts in languages I'd never heard. A swirl of stars and blood-red moons.

And then it was gone.

When I blinked again, one eye was new. Heavier. Deeper. Hungrier.

Chiyo was cleaning her tools in silence.

"It's done," she said at last.

The chamber was still humming, the seals along the walls slowly dimming back into silence. I sat up on the slab, dragging in a breath that tasted like iron and salt. My body was… not mine.

Not entirely, at least.

I flexed my right hand. The skin was the same shade, but it felt warmer—charged. My heart beat steady, but behind each thump was an undercurrent of something more primal. Life, clawing its way through me like roots through stone. Hashirama's cells were already taking hold, woven through my circulatory system like threads of chakra lightning. The bruising around the injection site had vanished completely. I didn't feel pain. I didn't feel fatigue.

I felt power. 

There was an old mirror in the far corner of the chamber, half-covered in a dusty sheet. I stood—shakily at first, but each step came easier than the last—and crossed over to it. I ripped the sheet away.

And for the first time since the surgery, I looked at myself.

Half of me was familiar—the same crimson hair, the kanji for "love" carved into my forehead like an oath I'd never renounced. But my eyes…

The left was black and red, the Kamui Mangekyō Sharingan, spinning gently with its spiraled shuriken pattern like it was waiting. Not aggressive. Not malevolent. Just… observant. Eternal.

The right…

My throat tightened.

The Rinnegan was an abyss.

Pale purple, rippled in concentric circles. A still storm. It didn't glow. It absorbed light. My entire field of vision felt warped through it—as though I was seeing layers of the world stacked atop one another, dimensions I had no names for, chakra flows in people, walls, even particles in the air. It was too much.

I staggered for a breath. Blinked. The dizziness passed—faster than it should've.

The Hashirama cells were compensating. Strengthening the pathways in my body, smoothing the chaos. I was adapting to both eyes faster than I had any right to. No, I realized. They're adapting to me.

I raised a hand and covered the Rinnegan for a moment. The overload receded. I could feel how to control it—not instinctively, but as if the knowledge had simply… been given. As if someone else had already walked this path, and now I was retracing their steps. A ghost in godhood's shadow.

I lowered the hand and stared at my reflection again.

"Gaara of the Desert," I whispered.

Then the world… shuddered.

Not the real world. Not quite.

A pulse rippled behind my eyes—subtle, internal. Like a thought surfacing unbidden from the depths of a still mind. It wasn't chakra. It wasn't even spiritual.

It was System.

[System Notice: Boss-Level Threat Eliminated — Nagato (Prime)]

Calculating Contribution…

Final Blow: Confirmed

Primary Combat Rating: 96.1%

Reward Granted.

I didn't flinch although it has been a hot minute since i seen the system.

Skill Evolution Unlocked.

[Wet Tinkering] ➤ [Inspired Inventor]

Skill Description:

[Inspired Inventor]: You are more than a tinkerer. You are an architect of ideas. Concepts will form faster, designs will solidify quicker, and your creations will exhibit unique flair depending on your emotional state. Creative breakthroughs are now likely to emerge during stress or combat.

You possess heightened intuitive understanding across a wide range of activities. With time resources and study, you can design inventions or concepts far ahead of current standards. Cross-activity innovation is possible, and effort spent studying will yield accelerated breakthroughs.

[Limitations: Requires time, focus, and materials. Mastery in a field still demands study. Cannot instantly create from nothing.]

I read it twice.

Then a third time.

A shift.

Not physical. Not even spiritual. It was… mental.

My thoughts accelerated. Threads connected. Processes I had once only stumbled through now assembled themselves without hesitation. Schematics, chakra circuitry, elemental blending ratios, seal matrices—it all clicked. The madness of hours in the lab, trying to figure out how to merge water and wind chakra into a pressure-based filtration seal suddenly seemed laughably simple.

I blinked once and a full irrigation schematic for the Lower District farms appeared fully formed in my head. With auto-purifiers. Micro seals to repel desert wind corrosion. A thermal balancing array using passive sunlight converters.

This is real, I thought. I'm… smarter.

But no—sharper. My mind wasn't just running faster, it was thinking in broader strokes. Ideas weren't drifting up anymore. They were falling into place.

A mind that could design the future.

Weapons. Medicine. Cities. Systems.

The shinobi world was built on blood, vengeance, and ancient doctrine. But what if I could offer it more? Not just peace and power—but progress?

Technology that made war obsolete. Infrastructure that replaced conquest with cooperation.

I closed the interface slowly, the glow fading behind my eyes.

"No matter how brilliant the future," I muttered, "the present refuses to wait."

Tomorrow, I would fly to the neutral territory in the Land of Iron where the Five Kage would gather. I could already feel the tension curling in my gut—not fear, but anticipation. There would be politics, accusations, and posturing. And all of it would be necessary, because the truth was far worse than any diplomatic sparring.

Obito.

Black Zetsu.

The ghosts that skulked in the shadows of the world, pulling at its strings like a marionette. They were the short-term threat—immediate, hungry, and active. I couldn't stop them with inspiration or theory. Not yet. It will take Violence.

(End of Chapter)