"Hiruzen," Danzo's voice cut through the silence, smooth as a polished blade and just as cold. "I have just received interesting reports. Troops from Kumo, Iwa, and Suna are massing at their respective borders."
There was no panic in his tone. Danzo never panicked. He simply stored crises away for a rainy day, preferably one where he could be declared a hero afterward.
Konoha, thanks to the earlier reconnaissance by Azula, Tsunade, and Sakumo, was already on a war footing. Missions were restricted, ninja were recalled—the village was a coiled spring.
This move by the other nations was as logical as it was terrifying. It meant war was knocking, and it wasn't bothering to wipe its feet.
Of course, Hiruzen was playing a different game of shogi than his old friend.
Danzo was staring at the pieces on the board, while Hiruzen had found a scribbled note at his door—an anonymous letter detailing a secret Kage summit and their true, vicious target: the utter destruction of Uzushiogakure.
If Danzo knew, he'd have already pierced the whole conspiracy with his usual… aggressive diplomacy. From Hiruzen's perspective, this border nonsense was a diversion, and a warning: Look away, old man. This doesn't concern you. Or else.
He was just about to weave this delicate tapestry of explanation—a skill at which Hokages must excel—when the office door exploded inwards.
Not literally, but the entrance of Tsunade had much the same effect.
Danzo and Koharu's faces soured as if they'd bitten into a lemon. Homura just looked resigned. Hiruzen merely sighed; he was more used to this than his own shadow.
At least she used the door. Jiraiya preferred the window, and his landings were rarely graceful.
"Hiruzen," Danzo sniffed, seizing the opportunity. "You really must teach your student some manners. Bursting in like a stampeding bull during a full council meeting? It sets a dangerous precedent."
"What if someone disguised themselves as her? A single suicide bomber could do it right in because the Anbu were too polite to stop your student!"
His point was, technically, correct. It was also spectacularly ill-advised.
One should never, ever criticize a person's manners in front of the woman who raised them. Especially when that woman is a red-haired Uzumaki matriarch whose entire clan is famously, gloriously, and dangerously volatile when angered.
Mito had been standing just behind Tsunade, a vision of serene, deadly grace. Had they not been in the Hokage's office, and had Danzo's point not been vaguely logical, she might have simply punched him through the wall. A little. For emphasis.
Since that was currently off the table, she chose a more… intimate approach.
Now a perfect Jinchuriki, her chakra seamlessly intertwined with Kurama's. And Kurama, that great, grumpy bearer of humanity's malice, was always happy to lend a little… weight.
Mito didn't even move. She simply let a sliver of that combined, monstrous pressure settle on Danzo's shoulders like a physical cloak.
Danzo froze. One moment he was a pillar of righteous indignation; the next, he was a statue, a single bead of cold sweat tracing a path down his temple.
He didn't dare twitch. He felt, very distinctly, like a mouse under the paw of a very large, very amused cat.
The others in the room, though not targeted, felt the shift in the atmosphere. A primal terror brushed against their souls. Hiruzen's blood ran cold.
For years, he'd comforted himself that his power, augmented by forbidden techniques and the weight of his office, had finally brought him to Mito's level.
He realized, in that heart-stopping moment, that he had been a fool. She was a force of nature.
"Shimura Danzo," Mito's voice was soft, yet it filled the entire room. She retracted the pressure, allowing him to remember how to breathe. "It seems you take issue with the education of my granddaughter?"
Danzo's eyes, wide and shocked, finally focused past Tsunade to the true threat. He was a tough man. He stared death in the face daily.
But looking at Mito's placid smile, he decided that arguing was a form of suicide he wasn't currently booked for.
"Mito-sama," he managed, his voice tighter than usual. "I did not mean it in that spirit. I was merely considering the matter from the Hokage's perspective."
"Hmph." The sound was a verbal dismissal, the equivalent of brushing dust from her sleeve. The power play was over, and yeah, she did it intentionally. They all understood their place now. She had no more time for their posturing.
Her gaze shifted to Hiruzen, who was still trying to get his heartbeat under control. "Hiruzen, the situation has evolved. I have just received a frantic letter from the Uzumaki clan. They are begging for help."
She let the words hang in the air, the piece of the puzzle crashing, making Danzo, Homura, and Koharu even more confused, with only Hiruzen understanding what she meant.
"The meeting of the four Kage was not about Konoha. It was about the Uzumaki. They plan to wipe Uzushiogakure from the map. And by now, the official envoy, no doubt racing here with the last of his breath, should be arriving at our gates to make the request formal."
A spark of pure comprehension finally lit up Homura's eyes. "Ah!" he declared, as if unveiling the secrets of the universe. "So that's their plan!"
Next to him, Koharu's mental gears, which typically turned at the speed of drying paint, finally clicked into place.
The troop placements weren't a prelude to an attack on Konoha; they were a brilliantly staged piece of political theater for Konoha. The message was clear: "Take one step to help your spirally-haired friends, and we'll make the First Shinobi World War look like a friendly playground scuffle."
All eyes then drifted to the elegant, unmoving figure of Mito. She stood with the serene authority of a mountain that had decided to attend a committee meeting.
Hiruzen, ever the diplomat (or perhaps just the only one with a working sense of self-preservation), cleared his throat. "Mito-sama, please, have a seat."
For six peaceful years, Mito had been the picture of retired bliss, less involved in village politics than a civilian. Her presence today was a thunderclap of an announcement: retirement was over, and Grandma was officially back in the game.
Mito accepted the seat, not with a flutter of gratitude, but with the simple acceptance of a queen reclaiming her throne. She could already feel them—the flickering, exhausted chakra signatures of her clansmen at the village gates.
The Uzumaki were here.
She'd sent young Nawaki to rally the Uzumaki in the village, a test wrapped in an emergency. She had poured hope into that boy; now was his chance to prove he wasn't just a walking vortex of good intentions and could manage them by the time this meeting ended.
Hiruzen's gaze then swept across his councilors, a look so heavy with meaning it could have been used as a paperweight. It screamed, For the love of all that is holy, do not say something stupid and get us all turned into toads. Their blank stares in return were not encouraging.
He turned back to Mito, his face a masterpiece of respectful panic.
"Mito-sama," he began, tiptoeing through the verbal minefield, "what are your thoughts on how we should... proceed?"
It was a probe, a delicate little fishing line cast into deep and dangerous waters.
Mito, who had been playing political chess since before Hiruzen knew how to tie his own headband, didn't even blink.
"Hiruzen, you are the Third Hokage," she said, her voice as smooth and sharp as a polished kunai. "The hat is on your head, not mine. The decision is yours, and yours alone. I have no right to interfere... unless the entire village rises up in revolt, of course."
She leaned forward, just a fraction, and the room temperature seemed to drop. "But remember this: every choice, from the grandest to the most trivial, comes with a consequence. The question is not what you will do, Hiruzen. The question is: are you ready to pay the price for it?"
This was her test. She wouldn't grab the wheel, but she would absolutely judge his driving. If he was so spooked by the Four Nations' posturing that he'd abandon Konoha's oldest ally, what was next? Would he hand over a Konoha ninja if they said they would go to war if he didn't?
To his surprise, Hiruzen felt a flicker of relief. He'd feared an ultimatum, but this was a reaffirmation of his office.
Magnificent, he thought, his inner fanboy emerging. Truly the Shodai's wife! She understands the Will of Fire! She sees the agonizing weight of my burden!
In truth, his mind was a civil war of its own. On one hand, Konoha was a behemoth; they could take on the four nations.
On the other hand, victory would be purchased with the lives of thousands of shinobi. Having lived through the First War—a brutal affair that had collected Kage like trading cards—the thought of starting a second one made his mustache droop. He had hoped his reign would be one of peace, not a sequel to that particular horror.
(END OF THE CHAPTER)
There should be a second chapter coming in about four to five hours