Konoha — Hokage Office
It was a rare sunny afternoon in Konoha, but inside the Hokage's office, the air felt heavier than a funeral.
On the legendary Hokage chair, legs casually kicked up on the polished desk, sat the most unlikely of candidates:
Obito Uchiha.
Across from him, Danzo knelt on the floor, posture stiff, head lifted just enough to look out the broad window behind Obito. His eyes, usually so calculating, seemed distant. He watched the clouds drift across the sky, expression unreadable.
Obito regarded him for a moment, the faintest of smirks tugging at his mouth.
He broke the silence, voice mild:
"Nice day out there. How are the clouds looking, Danzo?"
Danzo didn't look at him, gaze never leaving the horizon.
"Better than the view from that chair," he replied, voice even.
For a split second, the entire office went silent.
Then...
"PFFFT—Hahahaha!"
Obito laughed out loud, twirling a pen between his fingers. "You always did prefer lurking in the shadows. I bet the sunlight feels a bit much after all those years in a cave."
Danzo grunted, not rising to the bait.
Obito gave a slow, sardonic clap. "Congratulations, Danzo. You finally made it to the Hokage's office… on your knees. Hope the clouds are worth it."
He flashed a grin, wicked and cold, then swung his boots off the desk and rose...casting a long shadow over the man who'd once tried to rule the village from behind the scenes.
"Enjoy the view. It's the last peaceful thing you're getting before your death."
--
The Third Hokage — Sarutobi Hiruzen — had fallen.
He would be executed in public, beneath the unforgiving sky of Konoha.
News of the spectacle had spread across the continent like wildfire. Aside from Iwagakure, every major shinobi village had sent observers to witness the event firsthand.
Of course, none of them dared send anyone too important—no Kage, no elders, not even clan heirs. Only a handful of high-ranked jōnin and a few cautious chūnin.
Everyone knew Danzo Shimura's reputation.
The old vulture was a conspiracy given human form... no one could say for certain that this "public execution" wasn't a trap meant to ensnare foreign spies and dignitaries.
If Danzo got his wish, he'd love nothing more than to collect the heads of a few enemy elites as trophies.
Still, the world couldn't look away.
Konoha was now a pressure cooker, surrounded by three of the great villages and under the gaze of every major nation.
The only absent party was Iwagakure, who clearly had no interest in dancing on Sarutobi's grave—or risking their necks in Danzo's den.
On the crowded streets, tension hung heavy in the air—part spectacle, part funeral.
Amid the curious crowd moved a striking figure in Cloud's colors.
Samui of Kumogakure strolled with the quiet confidence of someone who knew exactly how many "weapons" she carried and how little anyone could do about it. Her blue eyes reflected the pale sky as she took in the scale of the village.
"The Land of Fire really lives up to its name… strength, wealth, population...it's got everything," she murmured, voice soft but edged with professional detachment.
Compared to this, the Land of Cloud really does feel barren, she thought, almost wistful.
Her shoulder-length blonde hair—cut in a sharp, asymmetrical bob—brushed her jaw as she turned to survey the Hokage Monument in the distance.
Her uniform, unmistakably Kumogakure: a low-cut black top, mesh armor visible beneath, all tastefully (and strategically) tailored to fit the Kumo style.
The flak jacket she wore was more corset than armor, hugging her form and drawing eyes with every step.
And eyes she drew—plenty of them. Admiration from the women of Konoha, barely-disguised hunger from the men.
But no one dared get too close. And in this moment of Konoha's vulnerability, the upper ranks of Kumogakure were not to be taken lightly, and Samui—her posture as relaxed as it was unreadable—radiated a simple message:
Approach at your own risk.
Behind her, the three Kumogakure chūnin continued running their mouths like idiots who'd never seen a battlefield outside training manuals.
"Tch. These pampered Konoha bastards don't deserve all this!" the first spat, glaring at the wide streets and bustling crowds.
"Yeah! Someday, the Land of Fire will belong to us... the shinobi of Kumogakure!" the second declared proudly, puffing up his chest like he was about to deliver a motivational speech.
The third leaned forward, eyes burning with envy... then warped into something uglier.
"And we'll kill every Konoha man and take their women for ourselves!"
Samui's brows twitched, but she didn't turn around right away.
Truth be told, she understood her subordinates frustration.
How could she not? The Land of Fire was a paradise—lush forests, sparkling rivers, markets overflowing with food and color.
For shinobi raised on Cloud's harsh mountains and rocky soil, Konoha might as well have been another world.
Still…
"Watch your tongues," Samui said, voice low but razor-sharp. "This is Konoha's territory. The walls here have ears."
Her warning carried across the street, and the three chūnin stiffened immediately.
"Y-yes, Samui-sama!"
Her calm authority did more to silence them than any threat of violence. For all the admiring looks she drew, Samui was a jōnin for a reason. Her reputation was ironclad, and in Cloud, even the bravest men thought twice before crossing her.
She exhaled quietly, a sigh more for herself than for them.
They're young, she thought. Still dazzled by green trees and blue skies, still thinking the world's biggest dangers are their own curiosity.
"Fine," she relented at last, not unkindly. "Go explore if you must. But listen...be back at the hotel before evening. If you miss tomorrow's public execution, I'll skin you alive myself. Understood?"
Their eyes lit up with adolescent glee.
"Yes, Samui-sama!"
"Long live Lady Samui!"
"We won't miss it for anything! A Hokage's execution—who gets to see that twice?"
Before Samui could remind them what happens to shinobi who get too curious in enemy territory, the trio had already bolted—racing off toward the unmistakable red-light district, the neon glow of pachinko parlors and casinos beckoning them like moths to a bonfire.
"Those idiots…" Samui muttered under her breath, rubbing her temple.
Being a ninja, she knew, was nothing but a long shot from day one. High risk, constant stress, and death always just a botched mission away.
No wonder most shinobi treated life like a casino—eat, drink, gamble, chase pleasure.
Why save up for old age when you might not see the next season?
If a ninja managed not to extort peasants or burn down a village, people already called them "decent."
A low bar, Samui thought drily.
She let out a small sigh, her expression settling into its usual impassive lines.
"Well, since I'm here…" she said quietly, not even bothering to check if anyone was listening. "I might as well take a walk too."
Samui set off down Konoha's main street, finally free of her underlings noise. She made a point of ignoring them completely—if they managed to get arrested in the red-light district, they'd have only themselves (and maybe a little paperwork) to blame.
She strolled at her own pace, blending into the crowd with that effortless shinobi poise, but her eyes—bright blue and quick—took in everything.
So many stalls, so much color. Vendors called out the day's specials; the smell of grilling meat and fresh bread drifted through the air.
For all her ice-queen reputation, Samui was still young, still a woman—still someone who could appreciate a good meal, cute clothes, and a market that actually had variety.
It didn't take long before she was weighed down by spoils:
A dozen crisp shopping bags hanging from her arms, a chicken skewer in her right hand, and a stick of glistening, sugar‑coated dango in her left.
Somewhere along the way, someone had even slipped her a paper fan with a little pink rabbit on it, which she...completely deadpan—tucked into her belt.
Anyone passing by would've seen the picture of composure:
Samui of the Cloud, one of the most fearsome kunoichi in the village, arms full of bags, nibbling her way through Konoha's street food, eyes cool but, for once, relaxed.
Inside, she was a little more honest.
I could get used to this, she thought.
But just as quickly:
No, I couldn't. My wallet would never survive.
What Samui didn't realize was that someone had been watching her from the shadows for some time...an observer whose gaze was good enough to catch every detail.
Perched quietly on a rooftop across the street, a lone figure tilted his head, lips quirking in the faintest hint of a smile.
He watched as the supposedly cold, infamous Cloud kunoichi sampled dango, juggled shopping bags, and paused thoughtfully at a stand selling patterned hairpins.
"Interesting," he murmured, raising an eyebrow.
--
A massive, nearly invisible barrier now encircled Konoha. It didn't attack. It didn't block entry or exit outright. It simply was—a silent, subtle presence, felt only by those with the sharpest senses or overwhelming power.
For most shinobi, even most Kage-level elites, it might as well not have existed. But a handful with the right instincts could pick up the faint shimmer, the pressure in the air—like a ghostly second skin stretched over the village.
And just beyond the edge of that barrier stood four figures, their presence quiet but electric.
One men, a striking blonde woman in a green robe, and a dark-haired girl a few steps behind.
"I knew something was off. Sure enough, there's a massive barrier here."
The blonde's golden eyes narrowed, lips set in a thin, grim line.
Her long hair, practically iconic, fell past her shoulders. Her presence...solid, unmistakable, a pillar in every sense.
"This isn't just some basic perimeter seal," she muttered. "Most ninja wouldn't even realize it's here."
Senju Tsunade.
Princess of the Senju clan.
Granddaughter of the First Hokage, Hashirama. Grandniece of the Second, Tobirama. Student of the Third—Hiruzen Sarutobi, now scheduled for public execution.
Tsunade's name still carried weight in every corner of the shinobi world, though she hadn't set foot in her home village for years.
Wandering with her disciple, Shizune, she'd drifted through a haze of sake, gambling, and unspoken grief—running from the sight of blood she could no longer bear, from the memory of her brother, Nawaki, who'd died despite all her genius as a medic.
She'd planned to stay away forever.
But the news from Konoha— of Danzo seizing power, wielding monstrous new abilities, and now publicly executing her old teacher—had dragged her back.
Not just as a Senju, but as a woman who could not let her family's home fall to a man like Danzo.
And then there was the masked man.
Hearing that Danzo was wielding Wood Style—a power that should have died with her grandfather—Tsunade's suspicions only deepened.
Was it a coincidence? Or was there a connection between that masked figure and the monster Danzo had become? Memories of her own bizarre encounter with that masked stranger haunted her mind, making her even more determined to get answers.
"Danzo…" Tsunade spat the name with a hatred sharpened by years of distrust.
She'd always despised that shadowy relic. Now, knowing he'd sunk Konoha into chaos and stolen power that wasn't his, she loathed him with all her heart.
Konoha was her home—no matter how much she cursed it, avoided it, or swore she'd left it behind. It was the life's work of her grandfather and granduncle, a legacy she could never abandon to a snake like Danzo.
"Tsunade! I scouted around, but no one seems to be maintaining this barrier. And more importantly…"
Jiraiya's tone grew grim. "The barrier's enormous… Can a single shinobi really sustain something like this? If so, their chakra reserves must dwarf even those of a tailed beast."
"Jiraiya…" A suspicion flickered in Tsunade's eyes. The more she thought about it, the more convinced she became.
"You need to get out of here. Something's off. I think Danzo might've already taken over the entire village—by himself. His strength… it might not even be below my grandfather's."
But Jiraiya shook his head, determined.
"Konoha isn't just your home—it's mine, too. And Sarutobi-sensei is our teacher. There's no way I'm turning my back on him now."
He offered his usual teasing grin, but when his eyes met Tsunade's, the affection he'd always hidden shone through, raw and unmistakable.
Because the truth was, he'd always loved her.
No matter how stupid or hopeless that dream was, Jiraiya had always wanted to stand beside Tsunade, maybe even marry her someday. How could he leave her to face this hell alone?
What Jiraiya didn't know was that Uchiha Obito had already broken through every layer of Tsunade's defenses, exploring her softness, claiming her completely.
While Jiraiya still dreamed of winning her heart, Tsunade had already been thoroughly taken—used and violated by another man.
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