Outside the little grove.
Itachi Uchiha watched Shisui's back disappear into the snow, his fingers clenching so hard the knuckles went ghost-white.
Poof. A puff of white smoke, and another shadow clone of Itachi snapped into existence. One tap of his toes and he was off, tailing Shisui's real body.
He just couldn't shake the worry about Makoto. The hem of his coat brushed the snow, kicking up a fine mist of powder.
The real Itachi stayed put in the shadows outside the grove, eyes locked on the two tiny figures inside. His breathing came a notch faster than before.
Snowflakes landed on his lashes, melted, and slid down his cheeks like tears. He didn't notice.
A thin wire of tension was strung across his chest. Makoto was fearless—always had been—and yeah, Shisui was strong, but the guy across from them was the Hokage's right hand, the head of Root, Danzo Shimura.
If Danzo actually cornered them…
Itachi swallowed hard, forcing his gaze back to little Sasuke in the grove. His fingertips unconsciously scraped at the frost on the roof tile, ice chips pattering down.
All he could do was hope Shisui kept a tight watch…
---
Deep under the village, closest to Root.
Intel slithered through the ice cracks and pooled first in this dark underground web.
The Root base was buried way down in Konoha's guts—just like its name, a tangle of roots digging into the village's flesh, coiled and knotted like some sleeping monster.
The corridors were pitch-black except for the faint greenish glow of the luminous stones embedded in the walls—ghost-fire light that made everything look sickly.
Anyone who didn't know the layout would be lost in minutes. Footsteps echoed off the empty halls like a dozen invisible ears were listening in.
The deeper you went, the colder it got, the air thick with rust and blood, sharp as a poisoned blade scraping skin.
Every ninja here wore a full-face mask, only their eyes showing—cold, flat, like kunai lined up on a rack, waiting for the order to kill.
Danzo Shimura sat in the deepest chamber, a wooden desk in front of him buried under a half-man-high stack of scrolls. He looked way busier than the Third Hokage ever did.
His bony fingers gripped a pen, the scratch-scratch of the tip on paper the only sound in the dead silence.
His black robe pooled on the floor, hiding the metal braces under the chair. Only when he spun did they let out a soft click-clack, like bones grinding—creepy as heck.
His half-lidded eye, cloudy and sharp, scanned the scrolls slowly. Every now and then he'd pause, the corner of his mouth twitching into a barely-there smirk, like he was cooking up something nasty in that head of his.
The "Dark of the Ninja World" title didn't come cheap.
The oil lamp on the desk flickered, throwing his shadow on the wall—twisted and clawing like a demon ready to pounce.
"Lord Danzo," a Root ninja knelt on one knee, voice flat as a slab of iron. "Someone from the Uchiha clan has made contact with the Nine-Tails jinchuriki, Naruto Uzumaki."
Danzo's pen froze. Ink bled into the paper, a black splotch like a drop of blood.
His saggy eyelids snapped tight, brows knotting. Knuckles went white around the pen.
The inherently evil Uchiha clan…
The words rolled through his mind, ice-cold. Were they trying to replay the Nine-Tails Night?
The thought made him slam his palm on the desk. Half the scroll stack crashed to the floor with a dull thud, papers everywhere.
"Send two teams to tail them. Don't move yet!"
His voice rasped like sandpaper on wood, no room for argument. The chair spun halfway, metal legs screeching across the floor.
He had to get to the Hokage Tower—make Hiruzen Sarutobi see what his soft spot for the Uchiha had wrought.
If Danzo were Hokage, he'd have wiped out that evil clan root and branch long ago. All this mess was Hiruzen's weakness.
On his way out, he stopped dead. The bandage on the back of his head shifted. Without turning, he barked, "Which Uchiha is contacting the jinchuriki?"
"The clan head's kid," the ninja answered, short and sharp like it was carved with a blade.
Danzo's pupil shrank to a pinprick. A thick wave of killing intent flashed in his murky eye. In his head popped the image of that sharp-tongued, inherently evil Uchiha brat.
Six months ago, that little punk had humiliated him, smeared mud on the name "Dark of the Ninja World."
Rage shot up from his soles, pounding in his temples.
"I'll handle it myself! That evil Uchiha brat—I'll send him to his grave with my own hands!"
The words came out through gritted teeth, each syllable laced with frost. Before the echo died, he stormed out of Root, two squads of masked ninjas gliding behind him like shadows.
The other Root operatives felt a ripple under their masks. Lord Danzo hadn't killed anyone personally in ages.
In the shadows outside Root, a white-haired ANBU clung to the dark like moss on a wall, watching Danzo charge out with murder in his step.
Once they were gone, the ANBU tapped the frozen ground lightly. Snow hadn't even settled before he blurred into a streak, racing toward the Hokage Tower.
The whisper of his coat through the snow was softer than the wind, but he moved so fast the air almost ripped.
---
Hokage Tower – Hokage's Office.
Shisui's shadow clone stood in the center of the room, snow melting off his hem and darkening the floor in little patches.
Hiruzen Sarutobi sat in his big chair, pipe giving a soft clink as ash tumbled onto the desk, piling up like a tiny graveyard.
After hearing Shisui's report, the Third knocked out his pipe, brows twisting into a knot.
"Uchiha contacting the Nine-Tails."
The words hit like a rusty nail to the chest.
The scars from the Nine-Tails Night years ago still hadn't fully healed. Any elite ninja who'd survived that night still tensed up at the combo of "Uchiha" and "Nine-Tails."
They'd all seen it clear as day—that Sharingan glinting in the fox's eyes.
But then he pictured Makoto dragging his little brother and a couple other kids into the grove to build snowmen, and the tension in his shoulders eased just a hair…