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Chapter 70 – Pulse of Blood, Call of Distance
🕑 Added 2025-07-03 03:02:05 +0000 UTCBelow the heart of Konoha, in the depths of a lab carved not by hand, but by precision and thought, Hajime stood in silence.
The containment pod in front of him hissed open, revealing the Haemastamen.
The organ hovered in suspension fluid, almond-sized, veined in pale red threads, quietly pulsing. It looked deceptively simple. But Hajime knew better. The Haemastamen was an engine of transformation. Not a brute-force enhancer like the Biscopea or Ossmodula, but a supporter, an orchestrator of efficiency.
This organ didn’t make him stronger.
It made everything else stronger.
With no hesitation, Hajime stepped forward and sat cross-legged in the center of the surgical platform. There were no scalpels. No wires. No assistants.
Only his mind.
His psychic field expanded like a web. He didn’t need a mirror. Didn’t need a diagram. He visualized his vascular system down to the molecular level, tracing the branching structure of arteries beneath the abdomen. He found the aorta, the great river of blood feeding his lower body, and began.
Using nothing but will, Hajime lifted the Haemastamen from the pod. As his use of pyschic power, it became more flexible and becoming more precise.
It floated toward him, surrounded by fine threads of invisible force. The moment it touched his skin, his flesh parted gently, guided by psychic command. There was no bleeding, no tearing, only precise separation. His body obeyed his intent like an extension of the lab.
He eased the organ into place, fusing it into the aortic wall just below the renal bifurcation. The gland latched on, thin tendrils weaving into his vessel lining, forming a perfect connection.
The effect was immediate.
His blood began to change.
Red blood cells swelled slightly, binding with oxygen more efficiently. Within seconds, Hajime could feel his breath lighten. His heart didn’t beat faster, it beat cleaner. Every muscle received oxygen like a machine topped with fresh oil.
The gland, now fully integrated, began supporting his other organs. The Biscopea responded first, its hormone output becoming more refined. The Ossmodula shifted faintly in his bones, reinforced by improved nutrient flow. The Sinew Coils flexed tighter, leaner. His system was becoming a closed loop of optimized efficiency.
White blood cells, now enhanced by the gland, began producing enzymes that filtered out even theoretical toxins. Venoms would slow. Poisons would dilute. Blood contamination would be arrested before it could spread.
It's also why Space Marines can operate at high altitudes, in low-oxygen, or poisoned environments without losing efficiency.
It wasn't immortality.
It was resilience.
Not a weapon. A foundation.
He closed the incision with psychic force, guiding every strand of flesh back into place. Skin mended. Muscle knit. Bone sealed. The only evidence was a faint, flushed warmth over his abdomen.
He exhaled slowly. His system settled into rhythm.
The Haemastamen was now part of him.
He stood.
And instantly froze.
His vision flickered, not from exhaustion, but something else. A pulse in the edge of thought. Not emotion. Not memory.
Precognition.
He felt it like a ripple in still water, his awareness stretching across distances, carried by instinct rather than logic. Like a warning shot from the future.
Koji. Kiko. The Land of Waves.
Something was happening.
Without wasting a second, Hajime turned and left the lab. His coat swayed behind him as he ascended level by level from the substructure. Above, Konoha basked in the soft gold of late afternoon.
He entered the Hokage’s office without knocking.
Tsunade, halfway through her third cup of sake and surrounded by scrolls, glanced up at him with a sharp eye. “You don’t barge in unless something’s wrong.”
“I need access to the Flying Thunder God scroll,” Hajime said calmly.
Tsunade frowned, but not from distrust. “You’ve had access to nearly everything except the truly forbidden scrolls. Why now?”
“I wasn’t in urgent need of it until this moment.”
Tsunade walked over to the hidden floor compartment behind her desk. With practiced care, she triggered the manual locks, no chakra needed, and retrieved a thick, golden-cloth-wrapped scroll. She held it out.
“Don’t try the Uzumaki kinjutsu inside. It’s only Minato’s version.”
“I understand.”
Back in the lab, Hajime unrolled the scroll on a stone slab in the forge chamber. It was intricate, schematics of seals, formulas for chakra folding, and the mechanics of space-tethering.
He ignored the chakra.
Instead, he studied the geometry. The idea of tagging a location. Creating a signature, a presence in space that could be referenced and returned to.
He could replicate it. Not with chakra, but with perception.
With thought.
He marked four locations within the lab with his own mental ‘anchors,’ created purely by will. The first test: a small metal vial blinked from one slab to another. Then a heavier object, an entire crate.
Then himself.
He vanished.
A soft pop of displaced air was the only sign.
And he stood silently at the far end of the chamber.
It worked.
He took a deep breath, then stretched further, his awareness sweeping out from Konoha, through the forest, across riverbeds and hills.
His perception didn’t walk the path.
It pierced straight through.
And then, he found it.
The old clearing in the Land of Waves. The outer rim of the village. His first hideout. The smell of salt, the memory of stone, the shadow of something moving too close to those he once saved.
He locked on.
And disappeared.
No sound.
No light.
Just wind brushing the now-empty lab.
