"If those Cloud bandits try to start shit over this, we fight."
"Danzo!" Sarutobi Hiruzen growled, slamming a finger on the desk like a gavel. "Watch your damn mouth! War's the last resort!"
Danzo's brow twitched. He hated this dance, but whatever—spilled the rest of the intel through gritted teeth.
"Cloud ain't mobilizing. No revenge fleet. They're gonna ice it."
Hiruzen's shoulders dropped a hair. Thank fuck. Stability was his religion right now—internal, external, all of it. Anything that could tip the scales? Hard pass.
Makoto "confirmed KIA." Uchiha blood didn't leak to Cloud. Best-case scenario. No nightmare of a Sharingan-armed Cloud battalion rolling up in the next Great War.
The knot in his gut for over a year finally untied. Even the midnight gloom outside looked cozier. Hell, even Danzo's ugly mug wasn't as punchable.
Wrinkles on his face eased. First time in months.
Danzo clocked the vibe shift like a shark smelling blood. Go time.
"Makoto case closed. Root spies in Cloud? Fucked. Massive losses."
Pivot. One eye locked on Hiruzen like a sniper. Tone flipped to urgent.
"Real problem? Hyuga. Cocky as hell lately. Ignoring orders. Running their own little kingdom behind closed doors."
"High command's authority? Toilet paper to them!"
Thud, thud, thud. Cane hammered the floor like a war drum. Danzo stepped up, all menace.
"Crank the pressure to eleven! Drill it into their thick skulls—this ain't the Warring Clans era!"
"Konoha is the core. Not some stuck-up bloodline!"
"Need more bodies. More cash. Higher clearance. And—"
Rattled off a laundry list like he was ordering takeout.
Hiruzen cut him off mid-sentence. Slam. Pipe cracked on the desk.
"Enough, Danzo!"
"How many times? Anything that fractures village unity—shut it."
"Third War just ended. Village is broke. Healing. Every ryō is spoken for."
"ANBU's stretched thin. Root gets zero blank checks."
Deep breath. Scanned the room paranoid-style, then leaned in, voice low.
"Clans already side-eyeing leadership. Resentment's brewing. Hammer Hyuga now? You'll spark a civil war. That's anti-stability."
"Stability? Hiruzen!" Danzo's voice cracked the air, dripping disdain. "Your spineless waffling is the biggest threat!"
"You're unfit to wear the hat!"
"If you'd listened years ago—purged the Uchiha—Nine-Tails never happens!"
He was foaming, eye bloodshot, voice a ragged snarl.
"You'll regret this softness again, Hiruzen! Like you always do!"
"DANZO!" Hiruzen exploded. Palm obliterated the desk. Papers jumped.
He shot to his feet, eyes blazing, decades of authority crackling.
"The Second picked me. Not you. I'm the Hokage!"
"How I run this village? My call. Not yours."
Voice like a guillotine.
"Your job: follow orders. Manage the shadows. Not overreach and beg like a damn child!"
Again. That fucking line: "I'm the Hokage."
Danzo's chest heaved. One eye burning red. Staring like he could flay Hiruzen with a glance.
Every argument ended the same—crushed under the Hokage hat.
Rage boiled like magma. Why him? Flashback to that jungle, that split-second choice—who volunteered to die so the rest could live.
Why was Sarutobi always one step faster?
Danzo would've gladly eaten the bullet for Konoha. Carried every sin. Why did the monkey get the throne, the glory, the power?
He loved this village deeper than anyone. No reservations.
The injustice choked him.
All that fury, resentment, humiliation—compressed into one icy:
"Hmph."
He whirled. Cane slammed the floor like a gunshot. Stormed out.
BAM! Door shattered the silence, echoing down empty halls like a death knell.
Inside: Hiruzen collapsed into his chair, rubbing throbbing temples. Stared at the paperwork Everest. Smoke curled, blurring his exhausted face and the "Will of Fire" plaque.
Outside: Danzo lurked in the shadows like a coiled viper.
One eye mad with obsession. Assassination plan: reactivate. No way he'd wait forever.
Just needed the right pawn.
Storm brewing. Konoha's future? Fucked.
---
Land of Water – Border Wasteland
A frozen apocalypse the world ghosted.
Snow like buzzsaws. Wind howling. Sky the color of a bruise, crushing the soul.
Forgotten dead zone. Horizon swallowed in white. Mountains? Blurry hulks, silent witnesses to misery.
Road sign half-buried, rusted, pointing to nothing.
Charred ruins poke through snow—burned villages. Black beams like accusing fingers. Ghosts of massacres.
People shuffling through hell. Civilians from Water Country. Rags. Starving. Eyes hollow—souls ground to dust by endless flight.
Every step a fight. Snow erases footprints like they never existed.
A woman huddled in a broken shack, clutching a baby. Cry weak as a dying kitten—wind devours it.
She tried wrapping the kid in her paper-thin clothes. Eyes? Shattered.
Then—a kid strolled by like he owned the tundra.
Poof. Thick, warm blanket appeared outta nowhere. Draped over mom and baby.
Then? Food. Real food. Placed gentle in front of her.