In the narrow alley, Uchiha Makoto's face turned dead-serious, voice low and icy like it was wrapped in frost.
"Before the Nine-Tails night, the Fourth Hokage—Minato Namikaze—wasn't just tolerant of the Uchiha in his heart; he showed it in his actions!"
"That's why the clan and the village could coexist, no drama."
"But if the one who died that night had been the Third—Sarutobi Hiruzen…" Makoto paused, black eyes blazing in the shadows. "I'd bet my life there'd be zero cracks between the Uchiha and the village. No tension. Nothing."
A gust whipped down the alley, rattling the corner lantern—clang-clang—orange light flickering across their faces like a silent shadow-puppet show.
Under the glow, Makoto's profile was sharp, eyes alive with fire.
Snow settled on his hair, a thin white cap, but he didn't care—just stared hard at Itachi and Shisui.
Those dark eyes burned brighter than the lantern, waiting for a nod.
He wasn't trashing the Third; he was praising the Fourth. No red flags. Just… thinking.
Itachi's brows knotted so tight you could've squashed a mosquito between them. The usual calm? Gone. Fingers twisted his sleeve until the fabric frayed, brain churning overtime.
Shisui's eyes widened—click. White breath puffed out in little clouds. "Makoto, I get it—you want the Uchiha to back someone for Hokage, change the game?"
Makoto stared at Shisui for a long beat, expression weird.
Dude. Really?
"You think any Uchiha could win Hokage right now? You got a mirror?"
He shook his head, voice like steel. "Drop the fantasy. With the village's current view of us? Until the clan can crush the village in strength, running for Hokage is a fairy tale. Zero chance."
Shisui didn't flinch—just stepped closer, snow crunching underfoot. "Then what are you saying? Spit it out."
Lantern light hit Shisui's face—tight lips, eager eyes.
Itachi leaned in too, black eyes locked, breath shallow—didn't want to miss a syllable.
Makoto sighed dramatically, slapping a tiny hand to his forehead like he was dying inside. "At my age I should be out eating candy and chasing big sisters, but here I am—breaking my heart for you two!"
On the outside? Tragic. On the inside? Jackpot. All this buildup—finally time to drop the mic.
He dropped the hand, face snapping back to steel.
"Look—the Uchiha don't have the strength, the rep, or the village's trust to take the Hokage seat. Not yet."
"But we can back someone—someone like Minato, who's genuinely good to the Uchiha. Put him in the chair as the Fifth Hokage!"
"Then the village-clan beef? Poof. Solved. No civil war. No blood. Just a stronger Leaf!"
Sounds easy. Actually doing it? Climbing a cliff with no hands. But that's not Makoto's problem—he's just setting the stage for his real play.
Right now, the village is run by the "Big Four Civil War Gods": Hiruzen, Danzo, Mitokado Homura, and Utatane Koharu. Old, shady, and hogging every lever of power.
The next generation? Burned out. Used as fertilizer for these geezers. No viable Hokage candidates left.
Orochimaru's actually a solid pick on paper—but too much dirt, too many whispers. Hokage? Not happening.
No sweat. Makoto's brain is 100% on grinding cash and paying to win. Get strong enough? You could sit on the Hokage's head and he'd call it "good balance."
Itachi and Shisui's eyes lit up at the same time—like someone struck a match in the dark.
This… could actually work. No war. Just peace.
Shisui took another step, snow splashing his pants, voice shaking with hype. "So who do we back for Fifth?"
Both held their breath, staring like Makoto held the winning lottery ticket.
He coughed, cleared his throat, milked the suspense.
Then—slow, every word heavy as a hammer on frozen ground:
"I've been digging through clan records since I was two and a half. Stayed up countless nights. Finally narrowed it down to the perfect guy."
"The only Sannin still in the village—Orochimaru."
The name dropped and the wind died—like someone choked it mid-gust.
Silence. Just snow hissing on the lantern paper and a drip from the eaves—plop—carving a tiny crater in the snow.
Makoto stepped forward, eyes blazing in the dim. "He's the Second Hokage's grand-student, the Third's direct disciple, the Fourth's uncle in the lineage."
"Pedigree? Redder than our blood. One drop of his sweat outranks our whole circulatory system."
"Sannin title echoes across the ninja world. Top-tier strength. Rock-solid resume. And—crucial—like Minato, he's a commoner. No built-in clan bias against us."
Makoto said it like gospel, eyes practically glowing with "I've bled for this clan" energy.
Inside? He knew it was a long shot. Outside? Oscar-worthy. Zero cracks.
Shisui's brow twitched. Fingers curled, nails digging crescents into his palm. "Orochimaru-sama is… powerful, but he's kinda…"
As one of the village's titled elites, Shisui knew some of the whispers.
Makoto cut him off—voice spiking, echoing down the alley. "Shut it!"
"Not one word that breaks village unity!"
The lantern rattled hard, orange light strobing across Shisui's frozen face.
Shisui's hand froze mid-chin-scratch, fingers rasping against skin. Eyes flickered—torn.
The rumors were loud. But Makoto's words hit harder.
"No more 'seems like' guesses," Makoto softened but stayed firm. "If Orochimaru had issues, the Third would've locked him up yesterday."
"No move = clean as this snow."
Shisui glanced at the trampled, boot-printed snow. Opened his mouth—then "Third Hokage" hit like a pause button.
He nodded slowly, throat bobbing. "Yeah… fair."
Shisui was Uchiha Kagami's descendant—the one Uchiha the Second Hokage respected. Loyalty to the village brass? Baked in.
Itachi stayed quiet, brows knotted, mind racing. Eyes tinged red—Sharingan itching to spin.
He'd met Orochimaru. Felt the chill. But Makoto's pitch? A sledgehammer to his deepest want:
Peace between village and clan.
Snow fell heavier, melting into dark patches on their shoulders.
Makoto saw the hook was set. One more step—crunch—ice underfoot like a warning bell. "Hesitate and we lose!"
"Yeah, it's hard—but better than waiting to die. Start by sounding Orochimaru out. Test the waters. Worst case? No loss."
He paused, voice booming again, eyes blazing like a man with nothing left to lose. "If the plan works—if Orochimaru becomes Fifth—the Leaf and the Uchiha rise again!"
Success or fail, I'm just borrowing some cash to pay-to-win. He kept that locked inside, face grim as a soldier's oath. Hand thumped his chest—thump-thump.
"All this? For the Will of Fire!"
"Do it and we might win. Do nothing? We definitely lose!"
"Rebuild Uchiha glory—or die trying!"
The second he finished, the alley wind split—a shaft of sunlight sliced through the storm, landing square on Makoto.
His black hair glowed gold at the edges. Eyes burned brighter than the sun. Itachi and Shisui squinted on reflex.