Escaping the Mist Ninja starts with backstabbing your teacher.

Chapter 158 Experiment Log!

Her thoughts shifted from Kakashi to what Shizune had just said, and then from those words to the inescapable Yin seal within her body.

Three thoughts intertwined and collided in her mind, like three different colored threads tangled into an unbreakable knot.

She didn't want Jingyin to take the risk; it was her instinct as a teacher and also an elder's way of protecting a younger person.

But she also knew in her heart that half of what Jingyin said was true.

The sealing methods can only delay, not eradicate, the thing that person left in their bodies will awaken sooner or later.

Instead of passively waiting for that day to come, it's better to take the initiative.

But what if something goes wrong with the mute function?

Tsunade tapped her arm lightly with her fingers twice, the rhythm a little faster than before.

She thought of that man, Taketori Izumi! Had he foreseen this day? Was he just waiting for them to take this step?

"Mute it." She suddenly spoke, her gaze still fixed on the window, without turning around.

"Yes," Shizune replied immediately, her voice tinged with nervous anticipation.

"Let me think about it some more." Tsunade's voice calmed down. "Three days! I'll give you an answer in three days."

Silent for a moment, then softly hummed in agreement.

She didn't press further, nor did she say anything that would upset Tsunade.

She knew that when Lady Tsunade said "three days," it meant that this matter was truly taken to heart, and not just a perfunctory excuse to brush her off.

She hugged Tun Tun and silently left the room.

The door closed behind her, and the sound of her light footsteps echoed in the corridor, gradually fading away.

Tsunade sat alone in the living room, her legs propped up on the table again, resuming her lazy posture.

But her gaze no longer held the languidness it once did.

She gazed at the bamboo grove outside the window, remaining motionless for a long time.

Tsunade understood that she couldn't refuse Shizune's kindness, because she had no other choice.

Meanwhile, in the Land of Snow.

In the underground laboratory located within the Daming Prefecture, the cold white light illuminated the entire secret room without a single shadow.

-

The nutrient solution in the culture tank had a faint green glow, and bubbles rose slowly from the bottom, bursting at the surface with a soft popping sound.

Izumi stood in front of the culture tank, his gaze falling through the glass wall onto the arm inside.

It was an arm grown from his own cells, with skin, muscles, bones, and meridians.

Every inch of his tissue was exactly the same as the tissue in his body, like a replica taken out of a mirror.

The fingertips of the arm were slightly curled, and the nails had a healthy pinkish-white hue, as if the arm had simply fallen into a deep sleep and could wake up at any moment.

A tiny syringe extended from the port, its tip piercing the skin of the arm, slowly pushing in a tube of pale purple liquid.

That's a version of the extract from Juvederm cells, diluted and optimized multiple times, with the concentration controlled below the critical point that ordinary cells can tolerate.

Izumi Kawa stared intently at the culture jar, the veins in his right eye bulging as he took in the reactions of every meridian and cell inside his arm.

The moment the Jugo cell fluid was injected, the muscle fibers in that arm contracted sharply, as if they had been burned.

Then, black lines began to spread from the injection point, like ink dripping into clear water, slowly spreading along the meridians.

Climbing up the back of the hand, creeping up the fingertips, it outlines twisted and eerie patterns on the pale skin.

The prototype of the curse seal is taking shape.

Izumi's lips curled up slightly, and the three-tomoe Sharingan in his left eye slowly rotated, etching every change in the pattern into his memory.

"Let's begin!" he whispered, his voice echoing softly in the empty laboratory.

Black lines spread along the meridians of the arm, like cracks in parched land, or like some ancient and eerie totem.

Starting from the injection point, dark lines climbed up the back of the hand, up to the fingertips, outlining twisted patterns on the pale skin.

Every turn exudes an inhuman ingenuity, as if it wasn't carved in, but rather naturally formed.

Izumikawa's right eye, the Byakugan, took in everything.

He meticulously recorded every piece of information in his mind, including cell wall permeation, abnormal mitochondrial activity, and changes in chakra flow pathways.

The Sharingan in his left eye captures every moment of the pattern's extension, with the three tomoe slowly rotating.

Capture, analyze, and archive those fleeting changes frame by frame.

The monitoring instruments next to the culture tank emitted a slight hum, and the screen displayed a dense array of data.

Heart rate, blood pressure, cell activity index, chakra fluctuation frequency—every curve was slowly but steadily climbing.

The muscle fibers began to contract and relax uncontrollably, as if something was awakening inside the arm, tentatively stretching its limbs.

The fingertips of his arm curled slightly, then suddenly unfolded, the five fingers spasming in the air a few times before clenching into a fist.

His fist was clenched so tightly that even the blue veins on the back of his hand bulged out.

Izumi's lips curled up slightly.

He raised his right hand and increased the amount of chakra injected by one increment.

The pale purple liquid in the syringe was pushed in a little further, and the Chongwu cell fluid rushed into the meridians of the arm at an even faster rate.

The black lines on his arm spread rapidly, like ink dripping into clear water, or like a flood breaking through a dam.

Those twisted lines covered the entire arm in an instant, from the fingertips to the shoulder joint, leaving no blank space.

The color of the skin changed from pale to grayish-white, and then from grayish-white to an indescribable, eerie hue that was somewhere between black and purple.

The arm had swelled in size, the muscles were more defined, and the veins bulged like dragons beneath the skin.

On the screen, the cell activity index curve suddenly surged to an unprecedented height, almost breaking through the upper limit of the display range.

"Hmm—" Izumi let out a low groan, reached out and pressed a few buttons on the control panel, increasing the concentration of the inhibitor in the nutrient solution by fifteen percent.

The pale green liquid in the culture tank began to thicken, and a cool chakra wave spread out from the liquid, enveloping the mutated arm.

The spread of the black lines slowed down significantly, as if something was pressing down on its neck. Although it was still struggling, it could no longer make much of a splash.

The data curve on the instrument began to decline. Although it was still above normal levels, at least it was no longer surging wildly upwards.

Izumikawa withdrew his hand, took a step back, crossed his arms, and stared at the arm in the culture jar.

The white of his right eye remained in a state of keen observation, monitoring every cell in his arm.

"The first batch of test subjects—" he muttered to himself, his gaze falling on the sealing scroll next to the culture tank.

The surface of the scroll is marked with numbers, from "Curse Seal - 001" to "Curse Seal - 006".

Those were the six culture arms he had treated with Chongwu cell solution over the past three days.

Each arm originated from the same source, cultured from his own cells, and has identical genes.

However, the concentration and treatment time of the cytosolic fluid for the cytosolic cells are different.

Of the six arms, four showed irreversible, uncontrolled mutations within hours of being injected with Chongwu cell fluid.

The cells proliferated wildly, the chakra went berserk, and in the end, the entire arm turned into a twisted, unrecognizable mass of flesh.

Even the nutrient solution in the culture tank was stained a murky dark brown and emitted a pungent, burnt smell.

Only two survived.

"Cursed Seal - 003" and "Cursed Seal - 006".

The treatment for sample 003 had the lowest concentration and took the shortest time.

Its surface has only a few scattered black lines, sparsely distributed on the back of the hand and knuckles, like traces left by a casual doodle.

Chakra fluctuations were stable, cell activity was within the normal range, and there were no signs of anything going out of control.

The problem is that the change is so slight that it is almost negligible.

And number 006 is the arm right in front of us.

His treatment concentration was 1.5 times that of No. 003, and the treatment time was longer, with black lines almost covering the entire arm.

Chakra fluctuations and cell activity reached a dangerous level, but with the help of inhibitors, it stabilized and did not teeter on the brink of collapse.

This is the most successful one so far.

Izumi walked to the workbench, opened the experiment log, and wrote a few lines of annotations on the latest page.

The pen scratched across the paper, the handwriting was neat and calm, every data point was accurate to two decimal places, and every conclusion was carefully considered.

But that's not enough.

Although No. 006's cursed seal transformation was successful, there is still a long way to go before he achieves his ideal "controllable cursed seal".

Its strength is insufficient; without mental suppression, it may not be able to withstand the erosion of Sage Chakra.

However, its stability is too poor; once it is no longer suppressed by the inhibitor, it may get out of control at any time.

He needs a stronger vessel, one that can withstand the erosion of natural energy and be forcibly suppressed by him when things get out of control.

Izumi put down his pen and his gaze fell on that arm.

His eyes reflected those distorted black lines, and the image of Kimimaro's pale and serene face appeared in his mind.

Shikotsumyaku! The bloodline of the Kaguya clan, possessing extremely high chakra capacity and physical strength.

If Kimimaro's body is used as a carrier, the concentration of Jugo's cell fluid can be increased to a whole new level.

Furthermore, Kimimaro's bloodline disease might be alleviated through the intervention of Hashirama cells; this is a balance, and also an exchange.

The timing is uncertain.

Izumikawa snapped out of his thoughts and turned to walk to the other side of the laboratory.

There, a row of culture tanks quietly emitted a faint blue light in the dim light, each tank marked with a number and date.

His gaze lingered on the culture jar labeled "Intercolumnar Cell-Kimimaro Fittest," and he gently tapped the glass wall with his hand.

"Wait a little longer," he said softly. After accumulating records from several experimental versions, they could start trying out the [optimization] feature.