It was clear that everyone present was one of their own—Zetsu, through and through. There was no room for suspicion among them.
In the long course of history, if the White Zetsu were seen as a species incapable of reproduction, then by now, this species had lost the vast majority of its individuals. And if one were to ask how these individuals died, the only answer would be that most of them perished in some vague, unexplained AOE—area of effect damage, so to speak. The White Zetsu died without clarity, while the caster often didn't even realize they'd scored an extra kill.
Because of this, the reasoning Hane Genma provided was both sufficient and trustworthy. Some of the White Zetsu might even feel a pang of empathy for his situation. After all, one White Zetsu could naturally see through the essence of another. In their eyes, Genma was no different from them—no cause for concern.
They were all White Zetsu. Suspicion? Why would there be any suspicion? For thousands of years, it had always been the White Zetsu disguising themselves as other ninja to stir up trouble. The idea of a ninja transforming into a White Zetsu without being noticed? Unthinkable. Their millennia-long mindset had solidified into an unshakable inertia—they couldn't even conceive of being impersonated themselves. And so, Genma slipped effortlessly into the ranks of these "experience packs."
The cave was dry and spacious. After Genma's arrival, the White Zetsu quieted down again. About a day later, all the White Zetsu in the surrounding area had finally gathered here.
"22, 23…"
Genma silently counted in his head. At this moment, 23 White Zetsu had assembled in this small mountain cave.
"Everyone's here," one of the White Zetsu stepped forward, facing the others and announcing.
"Is the reason for this gathering the same as usual?" another asked.
"Same as always. You report any valuable intel to me, and I pass it on to the main body."
"Nothing worth mentioning. Just the downfall of a few minor ninja clans. Does that count as a big deal with influence?"
"I don't have any high-value intel either."
"Our surveillance range has always been short on worthwhile targets anyway—just a bunch of small clans fighting chaotic battles, here today, gone tomorrow."
"…"
The White Zetsu grumbled as they gave their reports. When it was Genma's turn, he simply said, "Nothing," and left it at that.
Once all the reports were done, the leader spoke up again. "The shinobi world has been unusually calm lately. It seems we should ramp up our efforts to provoke the larger clans—stir the pot and deepen the conflicts between them…"
"Calm, huh?" Genma thought to himself. It seemed that in the eyes of the White Zetsu, a small-time ninja like him didn't even register as human. If they couldn't see him, he didn't exist. No existence, no ripples. No ripples, no impact. And no impact, of course, meant no meaning. The endless life-and-death struggles between mid- and small-tier ninja clans—how much could they really affect the development of the shinobi world or the course of history?
"Send two to Area 037. Strengthen surveillance there. More importantly, we've got other moves planned, and the ones sent can be put to use," the lead White Zetsu continued.
"Area 037 is…?"
"Isn't that the Uchiha clan's village?"
Hearing that the next move involved the Uchiha, one White Zetsu immediately piped up. "I'll go. It's too boring around here."
At that, Genma's mind stirred. "Count me in," he said.
He couldn't make a move against the White Zetsu here. If word got out that "a ninja disguised as a White Zetsu is hunting White Zetsu," it'd be a disaster for him. He couldn't possibly take down 23 White Zetsu—all capable of using the Mayfly Technique—in an instant. So, he needed to isolate one, travel with it unsuspectedly, and strike. There was no better opportunity than a shared mission.
"Fine. You two head to Area 037 for surveillance," the leader agreed. White Zetsu were White Zetsu—interchangeable, no need to pick and choose. Anyone would do.
After a moment's thought, it added, "Everyone, for the sake of that grand goal, we need to stay cautious while monitoring the shinobi world. Over thousands of years, we've lost too many of our kind. We can't afford more losses now… 1,157. That's how many of us remain. If we keep dwindling, we won't be able to maintain our control and surveillance over the entire shinobi world."
"1,157… so many experience packs," Genma mused silently. If his "experience pack" theory held up, how many levels could he gain from them? Well, he was getting ahead of himself. There was no way he could take down every single White Zetsu. They were a mountain of gold, and he couldn't carry it all—he could only quietly pick up a few nuggets at the base.
After the brief exchange, the White Zetsu meeting disbanded, and they scattered in different directions.
Genma followed his mission partner, heading toward the so-called Area 037. He had to stick close—he had no idea where the Uchiha village even was.
One day later.
Both Genma and his White Zetsu companion were traveling via the Mayfly Technique, moving at breakneck speed. By now, they'd completely split off from the others. No trace of a third White Zetsu could be sensed nearby.
And so, Genma, who'd been silently trailing behind, finally spoke, ready to pry open a heart sealed shut for over a thousand years.
"Tell me, do you really think we can pull off that plan?" he asked out of the blue.
"What do you mean?" The White Zetsu faltered, thrown off guard.
Their minds weren't wired to entertain such doubts—it was a physiological, hardwired trait. They were born to save their "mother." A brain that didn't want to save her simply wouldn't exist.
"We've poured over a thousand years into that plan, but what progress have we made? Next Nearly nothing. Is it really worth wasting a long life on something so vague and unattainable? There are more meaningful things out there, things worth our time and effort. Why keep chasing an unrealistic dream? Oh, by the way—are you male or female? Ever thought about breeding a female White Zetsu?"
"What are you even talking about?" The White Zetsu's brain was on the verge of short-circuiting.
"Me?" Genma suddenly reached out. His arms extended, hands slipping past the White Zetsu's head from behind, pressing against its temples on either side. With a twist and a push, a sharp crack rang out as the White Zetsu's head spun a full circle and a half.
"You're tired," Genma said. "I just wanted to convince you to rest. Abandon collective thinking, embrace individualism. Sure, you've lost your life, but you've gained eternal freedom. Doesn't it feel liberating? One thought of breaking free from 'Mother,' and suddenly the world feels wide open, right?"
Say what you will—Genma always had a knack for thinking of others. He considered what people wanted, anticipated their needs. Spend a little time with him, and most would agree: "He's actually kinda nice, in his own weird way."