Chapter 425: Your Father Doesn't Like You

“Your strength surpasses everyone in Ninshū.”

“Your intelligence led you to create hand seals and revolutionize the system of Ninjutsu.”

“And your talent… is beyond compare.”

“Asura truly cannot compare to you in the slightest.”

“In this world, you have always been the brightest one.”

Black Zetsu’s wholehearted “agreement” was like the finest wine. Indra, whose head was already held high, raised it even further, the pride on his face nearly overflowing.

He savored this “objective” assessment, as though he could already see himself ascending to the position of leader of Ninshū and receiving the homage of countless followers.

However—

At that very moment, Black Zetsu’s tone shifted without warning, cold and sharp as a razor.

“But…”

He paused, allowing the chill of that turning point to fully sink in.

“You will absolutely… never inherit Ninshū.”

His tone was calm as he delivered an unequivocal verdict of denial.

“?!”

The pride on Indra’s face instantly froze!

His eyes narrowed sharply. Within those violet Rinnegan, his confidence and arrogance receded like the tide, replaced by an icy, storm-like glare!

An intense killing intent, so powerful it seemed almost tangible, surged from the depths of his eyes!

The Chakra around him was no longer restrained. Like a furious beast, it suddenly erupted and churned. A faint glow of Chakra appeared around his body, while the surrounding air let out a low, mournful hum beneath the sudden pressure of his presence.

“Why?”

The single word was forced through clenched teeth. His voice was quiet, yet it carried a chilling demand for an answer.

He could not understand. If he was so exceptional, so irreplaceable, why would he “absolutely never” become the successor?

Who—or what—would dare stand in his way?!

Or was Black Zetsu simply courting death by lying to him?

Faced with Indra’s near-furious killing intent and overwhelming pressure, Black Zetsu remained utterly unconcerned.

His twisted form stood motionless within the shadows, his demeanor so calm it was almost indifferent.

He did not answer who might stand in Indra’s way, nor did he mention any outside obstacle. Instead, with almost cruel composure, he offered the simplest—and most devastating—answer of all.

“Because your father…”

He “looked” directly at Indra’s pupils, which had contracted slightly in shock and anger, and spoke each word with perfect clarity.

“Simply… doesn’t… like you.”

Boom!

Those words were more destructive than any attack. They struck directly at the deepest part of Indra’s heart—at that vulnerable place where, perhaps without even realizing it himself, he longed for his father’s love and recognition!

Indra’s expression completely froze in an instant!

The wall of pride he had built upon his absolute strength and talent seemed to have been violently split open by those words!

A complicated expression crossed his face—shock, disbelief, a trace of offended anger, and… something deeper. Something he was unwilling even to acknowledge: fear.

“Black Zetsu.” Indra’s voice tightened slightly as he tried to conceal the turmoil in his heart with his usual coldness and warning.

“We may be acquainted, but there are some things… that aren’t suitable subjects for jokes.”

Indra did not want to believe it. He could not believe it!

He was his father’s eldest son, inheritor of his father’s greatest power and wisdom!

He had advanced the development of Ninshū and ushered in a new era!

There had been expectation in his father’s eyes when he looked at him. Scrutiny, perhaps. Even severity…

But dislike?

That was impossible!

Black Zetsu watched Indra struggle to maintain his composure even as his expression began to betray his doubts, and understood perfectly.

He knew the seed had already been planted. There was no need to water it with more words.

Explanations? Evidence?

Offering them now might only make Indra suspicious.

“I never joke, Indra.”

Those were the final words Black Zetsu left behind, his voice returning to its original cold and ethereal quality.

Then his form slowly began to sink, as though melting away. Without a sound, he merged into the damp earth beneath his feet and the tangled shadows cast by the tree roots, as though he had never been there at all.

Only his final words lingered among the trees like a curse, slipping into Indra’s ears and carving themselves into his heart.

“You’ll know soon enough… You’ll soon discover it for yourself.”

“When you finally understand… I will tell you… the whole truth.”

The voice vanished completely.

Silence returned to the dense forest, broken only by the rustling of leaves in the wind and the faint chirping of insects in the distance.

Yet Indra remained standing stiffly where he was.

His tall, straight figure now seemed rigid, as though bound by invisible shackles. His brows were tightly furrowed, deep lines carved across his forehead.

The confidence and satisfaction stirred by Black Zetsu’s earlier “approval” had long since vanished without a trace.

Black Zetsu’s words were like a poisoned thorn, piercing precisely through the weakest crack in Indra’s proud heart and burying themselves deep within.

“Father… doesn’t like me?”

Once the thought took root, it became like an unyielding vine, winding relentlessly through his mind.

He could not help but begin recalling every moment he had spent with his father.

The harsh lessons. The silent looks.

The times his father had entrusted more of the mundane affairs to Asura.

The looks of apparent disapproval whenever Indra became too focused on pursuing power…

Once a seed of doubt was planted, it would find its own nourishment and grow wildly on its own.

Indra stood amid the dim forest as sunlight filtered through the thick canopy, casting shifting patches of light and shadow across his body—just like the chaotic darkness clouding his heart.

The Heavenly Curtain followed Indra’s somewhat heavy yet still proud footsteps until he finally arrived at the village assigned for his trial.

The scene before him was almost identical to the one Asura had encountered—collapsed houses, abandoned fields, and weeds growing everywhere.

The villagers were gaunt and sallow, their eyes hollow and numb as they huddled beneath the few remaining dilapidated roofs or at the entrance to the village. The air was thick with poverty, despair, and lifeless desolation.

Yet unlike the compassion and sense of responsibility that had welled up within Asura, Indra immediately frowned. A trace of undisguised impatience—and incomprehension—flashed through his eyes.

He could not empathize with their plight.

In his view, these people’s suffering was largely the result of their own laziness and ignorance.

No one is forcing them to stay here. There’s plenty of uncultivated land outside, Indra scoffed inwardly. Why would they rather starve in this ruined village than get up, work, and support themselves? It’s simply… incomprehensible.

He stopped observing them and directly used Chakra to amplify his voice, summoning every surviving villager to an open space in the center of the village in a tone that brooked no argument.

Faced with this stranger who had suddenly appeared—powerful in presence and dressed in extraordinary attire—the villagers instinctively felt afraid and shrank back, not daring to raise their heads.