"Rest assured! After this war ends, I will personally thank the Uchiha Clan for their contributions to Konoha!"
"Then, Fugaku thanks Hokage-sama in advance!"
Hearing Hiruzen Sarutobi say this, a faint glimmer of joy flashed in Uchiha Fugaku's eyes.
Had the relationship between the Clan and the Village finally begun to ease?
If Hiruzen Sarutobi knew what Fugaku was thinking, he would have only sneered inwardly — the man was overthinking it.
He had merely said those words because, for now, he still needed the power of the Uchiha Clan.
After the war ended, if the old man could still remember their "contributions," then perhaps the Uchiha truly did possess some divine luck.
---
"Mizukage-sama! I don't understand!"
At the Hidden Mist Village's war council chamber, Biwa Jūzō, wielder of the Kubikiribōchō, stood before Yagura Karatachi, his tone brimming with indignation.
"If we had continued fighting, victory would have been ours! Why did we retreat?!"
Anyone with eyes could see it — Hiruzen Sarutobi had already been pushed to the brink of defeat.
Yet Yagura Karatachi had abruptly called for a retreat.
Not only Jūzō — even the other Seven Ninja Swordsmen exchanged confused looks, their eyes resting on the Mizukage seated at the head of the table.
But what met them was Yagura's frigid gaze.
"So… are you questioning my command?"
The room fell silent.
In the past, the Swordsmen might have dared to argue — but today, the atmosphere around Yagura was suffocating.
The murderous aura rolling off him was so thick that it felt as if he would cut them down the instant they spoke out of turn.
"We… wouldn't dare, Mizukage-sama!"
No matter how confused they were, none of them dared to utter another word.
"Hmph. Retreat."
Yagura's cold snort cut through the silence as he waved a dismissive hand. He clearly had no interest in further discussion.
The Swordsmen exchanged uneasy glances before finally bowing.
"Yes, Mizukage-sama!"
Even if doubt lingered in their hearts, none among them would defy the Fourth Mizukage.
When the last of them exited the room, the atmosphere grew eerily still.
From the shadows of the floor, two figures — one black, one white — slowly emerged.
"Lord Madara," Black Zetsu's gravelly voice whispered. "How was it?"
"Hmph."
Yagura's expression shifted, and when he spoke again, the tone was no longer his own — deep, commanding, and ancient.
It was Uchiha Madara's voice.
The scarlet glow of a three-tomoe Sharingan flared within Yagura's eyes.
"What Hiruzen Sarutobi? Trash. He hasn't inherited even half of Tobirama's power."
His words dripped with disdain.
He had expected the so-called Professor of Ninjutsu to offer some amusement.
Instead, the fight had been nothing but disappointment.
"What Five Nature Transformations? To me, his jutsu are child's play."
Black and White Zetsu both chuckled faintly.
"Well, compared to Lord Madara, a mere Third Hokage is indeed nothing."
Madara didn't respond immediately. His attention turned inward.
"How is Uchiha Obito?"
"He's under our watch," White Zetsu replied. "We're waiting for the right moment to approach him."
"Good." Madara's lips curled into a cold smirk.
"This war… will erase what remains of his naïve hopes."
---
One year later.
The Third Shinobi World War showed no sign of stopping — if anything, it burned fiercer than before.
Among all the battlefronts, the one against the Hidden Cloud was the most stable.
Because Aoyama Ryuyun was there.
With the Golden Lion himself stationed on that front, Kumogakure didn't dare launch large-scale offensives.
Ryuyun's Haoshoku Haki alone was a weapon that crushed armies.
Numbers meant nothing before him.
Even the Third Raikage had personally led a raid on Konoha's camp, hoping to reclaim the Two-Tails Jinchūriki, Yugito Nii.
But with Aoyama Ryuyun present, there was no chance of success.
For Ryuyun, this war had long grown dull.
One afternoon, several familiar voices echoed through his conference room.
"It's hard to imagine that weaklings like you are still alive."
Ryuyun's gaze drifted lazily toward the doorway.
Standing there were several Sarutobi Clan ninja — the same ones who, a year ago, had begged him to dispatch troops to aid the Hidden Mist front.
Now, a year later, they had returned — humbled by war.
This time, not one of them dared talk back to Ryuyun's sharp mockery.
Because Aoyama Ryuyun had already proven to the entire shinobi world that Konoha could survive without Hiruzen Sarutobi —
But it could never survive without the Golden Lion.
"Cough, cough! Lord Ryuyun, it's been a year. Can you now send reinforcements to aid Hokage-sama?"
"Tch. Cowards." Ryuyun muttered with contempt.
Not one of them dared to lift their eyes.
Finally, Nara Shikaku gave him a subtle look, silently urging him to ease off.
Ryuyun sighed faintly, then leaned back in his chair.
"Tell me — is Hiruzen Sarutobi dead yet?"
"Of course not!" one of the Sarutobi ninja replied instantly.
"What a pity," Ryuyun said flatly.
The group froze.
Even Nara Shikaku had to bite back a laugh. Poor Hiruzen — he had truly provoked the wrong man.
"Lord Ryuyun," one of the Sarutobi reminded cautiously, "about the reinforcements…"
Ryuyun waved a hand. "Cough, cough. I already know the situation."
"Then?"
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