The early autumn wind carried a hint of chill.
October 11th, before dawn—in Konoha's central square, the night had gone from heart-pounding fear to a simmering blaze of anger.
The villagers and shinobi had been through much.
Now, their rage spent, they had gone home to rest, waiting for morning to rebuild the houses Kurama had carelessly crushed.
Beside the Wall of Honor, on the Pillar of Shame, the blood of Danzō—reduced to a human swine—still flowed.
He wouldn't die. Not yet. Never underestimate the remnants of Hashirama Senju's life force within him.
But survival came at a price—the agony of his body being slowly devoured by those same cells, and the torment of his soul being ground down by the power that had once been his weapon.
He couldn't move. He couldn't even take his own life.
Now he finally understood why the Fourth Raikage had been so obedient during negotiations. It wasn't because he didn't want to resist. He couldn't.
If even someone with the Raikage's body couldn't, what chance did he have?
The bleak autumn wind and unending pain kept Danzō conscious. The greater the darkness one bears, the harsher the retribution when it arrives.
Danzō's mind was unraveling. This was only the first day. He was already at his breaking point.
Footsteps drew near. With effort, he turned his head and saw a familiar silhouette—the old comrade who used to play shogi with him at the entrance of Root.
Hiruzen Sarutobi. The Third Hokage of Konoha. The man he'd spent a lifetime trying—and failing—to surpass.
Itachi once said something true: only when death approaches does a man see who he really is.
Take Kisame Hoshigaki, for example. A true man—he'd rather be torn apart by sharks than let enemy hands seize his secrets.
"One against seven, huh? Maybe I wasn't so useless after all."
Those were Kisame's last words.
Now Danzō, too, seemed to understand what his life had amounted to. Perhaps he had made some contributions—but his sins outweighed his merits.
If he couldn't be remembered on the Wall of Honor, then perhaps this Pillar of Shame was its own kind of remembrance.
With a bitter smile, Danzō rasped,
"Here to mock me, Hiruzen...?
Mock me?"
Hiruzen shook his head, his expression heavy.
"Old friends fade away one after another, like leaves scattered by the wind."
"To be honest, after Tobirama-sensei's death, only Kagami ever truly understood me—besides you."
"Homura and Koharu... they never quite could."
Standing before what was left of Danzō, Hiruzen sighed softly.
"We've grown old, Danzō."
"I want to scold you... remind you that I told you not to try to change anything, to just watch the next generation grow stronger and lead Konoha forward."
"But now, those words mean nothing."
His gaze lifted from Danzō to the sky.
In the chill of early autumn, the stars still shone brightly. A single shooting star streaked slowly across the heavens—like a life quietly fading away.
"Danzō, I know my own shortcomings, and I know your strengths."
"We complemented each other perfectly. In the beginning, Konoha truly grew powerful."
"But gradually, we both changed."
A long sigh escaped him as a tear of age rolled down Hiruzen's cheek.
"I grew increasingly soft and merciful, while you became ever more cold-blooded."
"That's why we ended up like this."
"You'll be remembered by the people, while I can't even make it onto the Wall of Honor."
With a bitter smile, Hiruzen pulled a bottle of sake from behind his back, uncorked it, and held it to Danzō's lips.
"Just like now."
"Old friend, I still can't bear to see you suffer like this."
"I want to see you off."
Do you see?
Danzō opened his mouth, but the words he wanted to say remained unsaid.
See me off.
Danzō smiled, opened his mouth, bit down on the bottle's mouth, and tilted his head back, gulping it down fiercely. He drank the liquid dry in one breath, then released the bottle, gasping for air.
"Hiruzen!"
"If I had one more chance, when Tobirama-sensei had someone cover our retreat—"
"I, Danzō Shimura, would never yield my position! Nor would I hesitate for even a second!"
Breathing heavily, Danzō roared at the shooting star streaking across the sky.
"I am Danzō Shimura! Even in death, my blood shall flow into Konoha's soil, nourishing its very roots!"
"Guh!"
The roar was followed by a pained groan. The life of a ninja who walked in darkness had reached its end.
"Go now. I will watch over this Konoha."
"After I die, I will tell you everything I have seen."
"We truly have grown old."
Closing Danzō's eyes with a gentle touch, Hiruzen turned and walked away.
Perhaps, the one who truly understood him best was still Danzō. It was a pity that the two had only truly confessed their innermost thoughts to each other at the moment of death.
He shook his head. Lonely silhouettes were the only sight in the vast central plaza.
A faint streak of dawn slowly emerged in the east. The night had passed. New life continued. Ahead lay light and warmth.
...
The Land of Rain.
The scene remained unchanged. Pelting rain lashed the earth. The mystery of Amegakure still beckoned, irresistible.
Within a pitch-black cave, horrific howls sent chills down the spine. Inside the cavern, one White Zetsu after another emerged from the ground, repeatedly merging with the tortured figure on the bed.
The writhing form was agonizing to behold.
Obito Uchiha!
He was still alive. But his existence was more wretched than death itself.
The Izanagi he used at the brink of death failed to turn the tide. The spare Sharingan left behind by Madara Uchiha had turned a hollow gray.
The Cero Oscuras had reduced his body to less than a third of its original size. Had he not transferred his last reserves of chakra here, desperately using the vitality of dozens of White Zetsu to replenish his own fading life force, he would have perished long ago.
Izanagi—the Uchiha Clan's lifesaving divine technique.
The Black Slash struck swiftly, its destructive force absurdly overwhelming. Had Kamui not reactivated immediately after that strike, he truly would have been obliterated into ash. Not even ashes would remain.
Even so, the most terrifying wound was the damage inflicted upon his soul. Another reason he survived was that his damaged body had been replaced by White Zetsu's cells mixed with Hashirama's. Otherwise, he would have perished without a doubt.
(Is that so, Zhao?)
A Zanpakuto doesn't just slay life—it also severs souls.
The agony of a shattered soul is the most terrifying torment. Even with White Zetsu replenishing his body, the wound to his soul remains irreparable.
What devastating power—to actually cause instantaneous spatial distortion.
Beneath the bed, Black Zetsu peered out, staring in disbelief at Obito writhing in agony.
Kamui has been broken!
No—it was a powerful enough attack to cause a brief spatial distortion, sealing Kamui's phantom form.
That brat... just who is he?!