Sarutobi Hiruzen gets Uchiha Makoto. Kid's brain runs on its own weird little track—one wild idea after another—so he's not sweating some grand Uchiha conspiracy.
That's what a solid rep gets you.
He took another slow drag off his pipe, smoke rings drifting lazy in front of him, mixing with the snowy air sneaking through the window—damp and chilly. "Got it."
He tapped the pipe against the desk corner. Embers hissed, spitting into the wood grain, leaving a tiny charred dot that bled into the dark brown like a blood smudge that never got wiped.
"Go tell Chief Fugaku to chill. It's just kids building a snowman—no need to act like the sky's falling."
He paused, gaze drifting out the window toward the Land of Lightning, Kumogakure's direction. Knuckles rapped the desk—tap-tap. "Kumo's delegation rolls in soon. Village can't afford a single screw-up. No unnecessary drama."
"Military Police need to lock it down these next few days. Heavy load. Don't let anyone with an agenda slip through the cracks."
Shisui's shadow clone bowed respectfully and stepped out of the Hokage Tower.
The second he crossed the threshold—poof—white smoke, snowflakes spinning in place before the hallway breeze swept them into the blizzard.
A ways off from Makoto, the real Shisui's mind flooded with the clone's memories.
He clicked his tongue, fingers flashing through seals, summoning another clone that bolted toward the Uchiha compound.
Done. Shisui muttered under his breath, white puffs mixing with snow. "Knew Itachi was overthinking it. Two kids stacking snow and he acts like the village is doomed. Total overkill."
"Anything involving those little brothers and his brain freezes solid. All that genius—poof."
Back in the Hokage office, Hiruzen watched the smoke vanish out the window. His brow furrowed deeper, crow's-feet looking like wet paper soaked in snowmelt.
Murmured to himself: "Uchiha… the Uchiha clan…"
He cleared his throat—cough—sharp as ice hitting boiling water, shattering the room's silence.
Two ANBU melted out of the shadows, dropping to one knee in perfect sync—like they'd measured it with a ruler. Even the thud of their knees on the floor matched. Breathing light as falling snow, rhythm identical.
"Send two squads to the grove. Protect the Nine-Tails jinchuriki."
He tapped the desk again, knuckles white, pipe embers flickering. "Make sure the Uchiha kids don't say anything they shouldn't. Eyes sharp."
Leaning forward, voice dropping to a near-whisper, almost kissing the wood: "Rest of ANBU—'patrol' outside the Uchiha compound. Don't miss a leaf hitting the ground. Anything happens, report to me immediately."
"Yes, Lord Third!"
They vanished like smoke, leaving only faint footprints on the floor—gone so fast you'd swear it was a trick of the light.
Hiruzen barely exhaled when—BAM—someone pounded the office door.
(Bookmark 101 Book Net—tons of titles at 101kanshu.com, fastest chapter drops!)
"Enter—"
A white-haired ANBU slipped in, snow still clinging to his gear, dropping to one knee.
"Lord Third, Danzo-sama took two Root squads out of base—heading west, full steam. Looks like the grove."
Hiruzen's face dropped. Fingers drumming the desk faster—thump-thump-thump.
Decades of knowing the guy. He knew Danzo. For the past six months, Root had been camped outside the Uchiha district—all because Makoto roasted him in this very office. Guy's ego smaller than a needle tip, yet he swears every move is "for the village."
Hiruzen stood, walked to the window, stared at the Hokage Monument. Snow piled on the Second's statue, softening those hard brows into something ghostly.
"Tell Danzo: sky-high grudges wait after we sign the ceasefire with Kumo."
His voice sagged with exhaustion, wrinkles packed with snow. "Anyone who tanks this truce right now is a traitor to the Leaf."
"The Leaf… can't bleed anymore."
The last words were a sigh, lost in the wind and the room's thick tobacco haze.
Snow kept dumping, big fat flakes plastering the monument, blurring the faces of past Hokages more with every minute.
The white-haired ANBU answered in sync with his exit—low "Yes, Lord Hokage" already fading as an invisible force yanked him backward.
Out the tower, one light tap on the frozen ground—crunch—and he was a white blur, faster than a crow skimming treetops. Snow sprayed behind him in a silver arc that vanished in a blink.
He cut Danzo off in an open snowy field before the grove. Knees slammed into the drift—thud—and he relayed the Third's message word-for-word.
Danzo halted. Stood still. That one cloudy eye stared at the ANBU like a muddy pond topped with snow.
Wind whipped snow against his black robe—pit-pat—mixing with his slightly ragged breathing, echoing across the empty field.
Root ninja around him froze like stakes driven into the ground. Breathing shallow. Masks forward. Not a single one dared look up at Danzo's face.
His silence was never calm. It was the charge before a storm.
Then—barely there—the corner of his mouth twitched upward. Gone as fast as a dead leaf in the wind.
He and Hiruzen went back decades. He got the subtext.
Hiruzen's message: after the Kumo ceasefire… then Danzo could go full throttle on that Uchiha brat.
The thought flashed murder in his murky eye, thick with killing intent. The whole village—except Hiruzen—who dared deny Shimura Danzo face?
A naturally evil Uchiha snot-nose cussed him out and lived another six months? A silent slap to the "Dark of the Shinobi World."
Then his mind snagged on the Kumo deal—brow knotting tight.
A near-silent scoff slipped out, cold as ice shards. Hiruzen was getting soft, spineless. The "Professor" of old—now just folding.
If Danzo sat in the Hokage chair? No way he'd grovel for a truce. Wouldn't beg Kumo for scraps.
Too bad he wasn't Hokage. The thought lodged in his chest like a burr. Through gritted teeth, voice like splintered wood scraping: "Back."
Root turned on a dime—no questions, no noise. Careful steps, not a single extra crunch.
Only Danzo strode ahead, black robe stiff in the storm like a dark spear jammed in the snow—pure menace.
White-haired ANBU watched him go, glanced toward the distant grove, and muttered: "Uzumaki Naruto, huh…"
Then—gone.
---
Meanwhile, in the grove…
Sasuke and Naruto finished the snowman. Naruto wouldn't shut up.
Sasuke stayed ice-cold, barely grunting back—except when Naruto mentioned Makoto. Then? Still frosty, but he'd toss a few words.
Itachi stood outside the trees, snow piling on his lashes, shoulders blanketed thick. Didn't move. Didn't blink.
Brows pinched, gut twisting with worry.
Light footsteps behind him.
Shisui's clone—fresh from reporting to Fugaku—clapped Itachi's shoulder, voice low and soothing. "Relax. I already cleared it with the Third. He said it's just kids playing—no big deal."
"With the Third's okay, even Danzo won't make waves."
Itachi's shoulders loosened a fraction, worry easing—until Makoto flashed in his mind. Nope. Heart right back in his throat.
Can't wait.
Deep breath. He called into the grove: "Sasuke!"
Voice cut through bare branches like a pebble skipping across a loud pond.
Sasuke froze mid-sentence with Naruto, like someone hit pause.
"Big brother's calling."
Dropped that, bolted for the edge—didn't even glance back when Naruto yelled.
Naruto's face fell. He crouched back by the snowman, alone again.
Then Sasuke's voice floated back: "Next time… if Makoto says I gotta come play, I'll come."
Naruto's eyes lit up like little lanterns. He jumped, shouting his address at Sasuke's retreating back.
Sasuke didn't turn—just waved a hand. Got it. Short legs pounding the snow—tap-tap-tap-tap.
Out of the grove, the same kid who'd been arctic to Naruto spotted Itachi in the snow and turned into a clingy kitten—three steps and he launched himself at his big brother…