Kyuushin had just laid out the full scope of Hanzo's ploy when the weight of it settled in—the reason it qualified as an open conspiracy was painfully clear. The Land of Rain could afford to prolong the conflict on familiar ground, bleeding Konoha dry through attrition, but Konoha couldn't match that endurance.
Logistics alone turned the tide: supply lines snaked over vast distances, vulnerable to endless sabotage. And the Sannin—Orochimaru, Jiraiya, Tsunade—couldn't be pinned down here forever. Other fronts would ignite soon enough, demanding their unmatched prowess elsewhere.
Beyond the trio, who else in Konoha could reliably counter Hanzo's lethal edge? The Hokage himself? Unlikely, with the village's burdens mounting.
This theater couldn't stretch indefinitely. The longer it festered, the more it eroded Konoha's position, siphoning resources from every angle.
Hanzo had zeroed in on that vulnerability, crafting his trap accordingly. Konoha, hungry for a swift end, would inevitably press into Rain territory—playing right into his hands.
At that point, Rain's odds of turning the war skyrocketed.
"It's actually like this?!" Orochimaru's voice cut through the tension, his eyes widening as the pieces locked into place. He clenched his fists tightly, his usually composed features twisting into a rare mask of frustration. Even his sharp mind reeled, scrambling for a counter without an immediate breakthrough. The tent fell into a heavy, expectant silence, broken only by the distant murmur of camp life.
"What's wrong? Why the long faces?" The flap burst open, and Jiraiya strode in, Nawaki and Minato trailing behind him with curious glances. Jiraiya's booming tone shattered the quiet as he clocked Orochimaru's uncharacteristic gloom.
Orochimaru didn't spare him a glance, his focus inward like a coiled serpent. To him, Jiraiya excelled at frontline brawls and bold charges, but dissecting layered strategies? That was like handing a map to someone lost in the fog.
Still, as a key commander, Jiraiya deserved the briefing. Kyuushin recapped his analysis in concise detail, watching Jiraiya's easy grin fade into furrowed confusion.
Jiraiya blinked, processing the layers. He'd always viewed war as a brutal slugfest—the mightier force prevailing through sheer grit. This web of feints and environmental traps? It blindsided him, leaving his face a mix of awe and discomfort. Spotting Orochimaru's stalled silence, he threw up his hands. "How about we wire the Old Man back home? Let the Hokage hash it out."
Jiraiya's easy surrender irked Orochimaru's pride. Ignoring the suggestion entirely, he straightened, his voice regaining its cool edge. "Kyuushin's theory holds water, but we verify before acting. If it's spot on, expect the Rain shinobi to repeat this pattern over the coming days—luring us step by step.
That said, not a whisper of this leaves the tent. You've all drilled the shinobi code of secrecy; I trust that's crystal clear."
Kyuushin, Nawaki, and Minato nodded in unison, their expressions solemn. Jiraiya opened his mouth for a retort, but Orochimaru's piercing stare silenced him mid-breath.
With the skirmish resolved, Kyuushin's team had no reason to linger. They exchanged quick farewells with the Sannin—Orochimaru's nod curt, Jiraiya's wave hearty—and hustled back to the logistics camp.
They'd departed at dawn and returned by midday. Tsunade was likely still recharging after her grueling nights.
Kyuushin opted not to rouse her. A rumble from his stomach reminded him of the morning's rush; he led Nawaki and Minato toward the mess area, the scent of roasting meat drawing them in.
"Yo, Kyuushin! You lot made it back?" A familiar voice called out just as they stepped inside. Kyuushin turned to spot Shikaku Nara waving from a table, flanked by his teammates—Inoichi Yamanaka and Choza Akimichi.
Kyuushin approached with a grin, clasping Shikaku's shoulder before eyeing Inoichi. The mind specialist looked remarkably recovered, color back in his cheeks. "How's the recovery going? Feeling steady?"
Inoichi had pushed his clan's secret techniques to the brink during the raid, triggering a nasty mental backlash. Neither Kyuushin nor even Tsunade had a quick fix for that sort of strain.
Yet the Yamanaka had their own time-tested recovery arts. A few days of rest seemed to have patched Inoichi up, at least outwardly. He flashed a thumbs-up. "All good now—no lingering fog."
"Dig in! Fresh wild game I snagged this morning," Choza boomed cheerfully, sliding a massive platter across the table toward them. Steam rose from the array of roasted cuts.
Kyuushin peered at it—pheasant he recognized easily, but the bulkier haunches were a mystery, likely some local beast. "Appreciate it!" He wouldn't turn down the offer; sharing a meal with an Akimichi was a treat in itself, their culinary flair legendary. Declining felt downright rude.
The trio grabbed rice bowls and claimed seats at the Ino-Shika-Cho setup, diving into the savory spread with gusto. True to form, Choza had transformed the wild catches into a feast—tender, spiced just right, with herbs that burst on the tongue. Nawaki powered through three heaping bowls before leaning back with a satisfied sigh.
"Busy morning for you? We didn't spot you around," Shikaku noted once the plates cleared, wiping his mouth with a casual swipe.
"We headed to the front lines at first light—quick supply run," Nawaki replied offhandedly, still buzzing from the food.
Shikaku nodded, but Kyuushin's interest piqued. He leaned in, keeping his tone light. "Shikaku, what's your take on how this war's shaping up?"
Shikaku tilted his head, puzzled. "In what way?"
"The overall flow—where do you see it heading?" Kyuushin clarified, stirring his water cup idly.
Shikaku studied him for a beat, then shrugged. "Konoha's got the upper hand on paper—superior numbers, training, the works. Rain's scrappy, but we're the favorites."
"But?" Kyuushin prompted, sensing the unspoken qualifier.
Shikaku ruffled his hair, a faint smile tugging at his lips. "You get it. Rain's dead set on victory; that camp raid proved they're not just defending. Normally, we'd steamroll them. But toss in some clever ploy like before, and... who knows? Upsets happen."
Nawaki perked up, hooked by the intrigue. He'd caught the tail end of the front-line tension, after all. "If you were calling the shots for Rain, how would you turn the tables on Konoha right now?"
Shikaku let out a low chuckle, his eyes sharpening as he scanned their faces. "You three aren't just shooting the breeze, are you? Spill—did something tip you off?"
Nawaki froze mid-sip, but Kyuushin chuckled smoothly. "Pure curiosity. Let's call it a what-if game to kill time."
Shikaku bought it, lifting his cup for a thoughtful sip before diving in, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial hush. "Alright, hypothetically—if I led Rain and aimed to topple Konoha, there's one ace up the sleeve: home turf mastery."
The phrase hung in the air, and Kyuushin felt a quiet vindication. He'd pegged Shikaku right from the start—the future jonin commander, the strategic brain Konoha would one day lean on for the Allied Shinobi Forces. Even in the canon timeline, when the Fourth Raikage hit the field, Shikaku's intellect earned him the top command spot. Underestimating that was a fool's error.
Nawaki's jaw dropped slightly, while Minato's gaze locked on Shikaku with newfound respect. Shikaku caught every reaction, his smirk widening just a touch.
Kyuushin took a slow sip of water, then steered the conversation forward. "Spot on. Now, say Rain's already leaning on that edge. What's Konoha's smart play to flip it?"
Shikaku's brow furrowed, gears visibly turning. He recognized this as the real crux—the puzzle Kyuushin had been circling. It was a beast of a question, no easy outs.
He stared at the table, mind racing through scenarios. Then, abruptly, he looked up, his eyes pinning Kyuushin with piercing intensity. "Maybe... you're the key to cracking it."
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