Kankuro paced across their assigned quarters, his footsteps leaving scuff marks on the polished floor. Outside, the setting sun cast long shadows through the windows, painting the room in orange and gold. The irony wasn't lost on him—such peaceful colors for the eve of chaos.

  Temari sat cross-legged on a cushion in the corner, her battle fan resting against the wall beside her. She methodically checked the joints of the metal frame, running her fingertips along the seams with practiced precision.

  "You're going to wear a hole in the floor," she said without looking up.

  Kankuro stopped abruptly, adjusting the hood of his outfit. His face paint was only half-applied—three purple lines on one side of his face, the other side bare. He'd lost interest in the ritual halfway through.

  "Where's Gaara?" he asked, glancing toward the door.

  "Roof. Meditating. Or whatever you want to call it when he sits perfectly still and terrifies the birds." Temari closed her fan with a snap. "You should finish your face. Father expects us to represent Suna properly tomorrow."

  Kankuro snorted. "Father expects a lot of things."

  The tension in the room thickened immediately. Temari's eyes narrowed, her fingers tightening around her fan. "Careful, brother."

  Kankuro checked the window, then lowered his voice. "Have you seen this place? Really seen it?"

  "I've seen enough."

  "No, you haven't." He crouched beside her. "The academy here—they're teaching kids as young as five defensive perimeters. The ANBU change patrol patterns every three hours. Even those gate guards that look half-asleep? They're analyzing chakra signatures of everyone who passes."

  Temari shrugged, but her shoulders looked tight. "So they're not as soft as intelligence suggested. We knew this was a risk."

  "A risk?" Kankuro hissed. "It's suicide." He checked the window again. "Remember those two green-clad lunatics we met? The ones that treat five hundred laps around the village as a warm-up? There are more like them."

  "Stop it, Kankuro."

  "I'm just saying... maybe we should talk to Father when he arrives. Suggest that... tomorrow's festivities might be premature."

  Temari's head snapped up, her eyes flashing with warning. "You want me to help you tell the Kazekage that his strategy is flawed? Based on what—your month of observations?" Her voice dripped with sarcasm. "I'm sure he'll take that well. Maybe he'll even thank you before burying you in the desert."

  "So we just follow orders blindly?" Kankuro ran a hand over his face, smearing the purple paint. "Even when those orders might destroy us all?"

  "Those orders will restore Suna," Temari countered, though her voice lacked conviction. "The Daimyō has been bleeding us dry for years, giving our missions to Konoha. Father's plan changes everything."

  Kankuro folded his arms. "And if I think there's a better way?"

  "There isn't." Temari stood up, towering over her crouching brother. "Listen to me carefully, Kankuro. Whatever doubts you're having, whatever's gotten into you during our stay here—bury it. Smother it. Kill it. Our loyalty is to Suna first, always."

  Kankuro rose to his feet, hands clenched at his sides. "If Father would just listen—"

  "He won't," Temari cut him off. "And questioning him openly will only put you in danger. Is that what you want? To be labeled a traitor? To make Gaara choose between Father's orders and your life?"

  The mention of their younger brother sent a chill down Kankuro's spine. He walked to the window, looking out at the Hokage Monument glowing in the sunset. Those stone faces seemed to be watching him, judging him.

  "I'll talk to him myself," Kankuro muttered. "When he arrives. One chance—that's all I need."

  Temari crossed the room in three strides, grabbing his shoulder and turning him to face her. "Are you insane? You can't go against Father alone!"

  "Then help me!" Kankuro shrugged off her hand. "You've seen the same things I have. The children playing in the streets. The old man at the ramen stand who gave us extra portions. The teamwork of their genin." He lowered his voice further. "Tell me you're not having second thoughts."

  Something flickered across Temari's face—doubt, perhaps, or guilt—but she masked it quickly. "My thoughts don't matter. Neither do yours. We are shinobi of the Sand. We complete our mission."

  "Even if the mission is wrong?" Kankuro pressed.

  "Who are we to decide what's wrong?" Temari countered. "We don't have all the pieces. Father does."

  Kankuro laughed bitterly. "Father has been making increasingly erratic decisions for months. The council is too afraid to challenge him. You know this."

  "And you think you can do better?" Temari's voice was cold. "The puppet master pulling the strings of Suna's future?"

  "That's not what I'm saying."

  "Then what are you saying?" Temari folded her arms. "Because it sounds like treason to me."

  The word hung in the air between them, heavy and dangerous.

  "I'm saying," Kankuro replied carefully, "that I want us to survive tomorrow. All of us. Including our comrades who have no idea what they're walking into."

  Temari's expression softened slightly. She glanced at the door, then back to her brother. "Is this about that weapons girl? The one with the scrolls?"

  Heat rushed to Kankuro's face beneath the half-applied paint. "Tenten has nothing to do with this."

  "Doesn't she?" Temari raised an eyebrow. "You've been disappearing every night to 'check your puppets.' You come back smelling like metal polish and cherry blossoms."

  "We're friends," Kankuro muttered. "She understands weaponry in a way no one in Suna does."

  "Friends," Temari repeated flatly. "I've seen how you look at her. How your eyes follow her when she walks away."

  Kankuro turned back to the window, unable to meet his sister's gaze. "So what if I care about her? Does that invalidate everything else I've said?"

  "It makes me question your judgment," Temari said. "It makes me wonder if you're thinking with your head or... elsewhere."

  Kankuro slammed his fist against the windowsill. "We've been here for over a month, Temari. Living among them. Eating their food. Training in their facilities. Do you still think they're weak? Soft? Unprepared?"

  Temari was quiet for a long moment. When she spoke, her voice was barely above a whisper. "They appear soft, yes. There's a... gentleness here I didn't expect." She ran her fingers along her fan. "But I've felt it too—there's a core of steel beneath the leaves. This village has endured more than one should be able to survive."

  Hope flickered in Kankuro's chest. "Then you agree? Tomorrow's plan needs to be reconsidered?"

  Temari shook her head. "What I agree with doesn't matter. Father made his decision months ago. The arrangements are set."

  "Things change," Kankuro insisted. "The Hokage is already in negotiations with Mist. Today, Temari. They're meeting right now. A new alliance could shift everything."

  "Father isn't even here yet," Temari pointed out. "He won't arrive until just before the tournament begins. By then, any negotiations will be irrelevant."

  Kankuro threw his hands up in frustration. "That's exactly my point! He's not even bothering to observe the situation himself before committing us to this... this madness!"

  "Mind your tongue," Temari hissed. "The walls have ears, especially in a ninja village."

  "I don't care anymore," Kankuro growled, though he did lower his voice again. "Our 'great leader' is going to get us all killed because he's too proud to admit when his intelligence is outdated. Too arrogant to consider that maybe, just maybe, the situation has changed."

  Temari's hand shot out, gripping his collar. "That's enough! You will not speak of the Kazekage that way, even in private."

  "Why not?" Kankuro sneered. "The great Rasa, who can't be bothered to arrive early enough to assess the battlefield? Who sends his children into danger while he hangs back until the last possible moment? Some leader."

  The slap echoed through the room. Kankuro's head snapped to the side, his cheek stinging beneath the smeared paint.

  Temari stood before him, her hand still raised, her eyes wide with shock at her own action. Then her expression hardened.

  "You've said enough," she spoke coldly. "I won't report this conversation. This time. But if you continue down this path, brother, I won't be able to protect you."

  She grabbed her fan and strapped it to her back. "I'm going to find Gaara. We need to make sure he's stable for tomorrow. I suggest you use this time to remember where your loyalties should lie."

  Without waiting for a response, she strode to the door and yanked it open. She paused in the doorway, not looking back. "And finish your face paint. You look ridiculous half-done."

  The door closed behind her with a decisive click.

  Kankuro stood motionless by the window, his cheek throbbing, his chest tight with a mixture of anger and despair. He touched his face, fingers coming away purple from the smeared paint.

  Slowly, he walked to the small mirror hanging on the wall. Half war paint, half bare skin. Split down the middle, just like he felt inside.

  He'd failed to convince Temari. His father wouldn't listen. And tomorrow...

  Tomorrow, people would die. Perhaps Tenten. Perhaps himself. Perhaps both.

  Kankuro stared at his half-painted reflection. He'd spent years perfecting the art of puppetry, learning to pull the strings, to control every movement with precision. But now, when it mattered most, he couldn't pull the right strings to save the people he cared about.

  He slid down the wall until he was sitting on the floor, head in his hands. The puppet master, helpless to stop the show from unfolding.

  Outside, the sun disappeared beyond the horizon, and darkness settled over Konoha. In less than twenty-four hours, if nothing changed, that darkness would become permanent for many.

  And there wasn't a damn thing he could do about it.

  The Hokage's tower stood silently as the afternoon stretched into early evening. Inside his office, Hiruzen Sarutobi and Mei Terumi sat across from each other at a low table, surrounded by scrolls and documents bearing the seals of both Konoha and Kirigakure. The window behind them framed a spectacular sunset that painted Konoha in amber hues, casting long shadows across the room.

  Sarutobi reached for his teacup, his weathered hands steady despite his age. "These terms are acceptable to Konoha. I believe we've crafted something that benefits both our villages tremendously."

  Mei nodded, her auburn hair shifting slightly with the movement. "Kirigakure agrees as well. It's been... refreshing to negotiate with someone who understands the value of compromise."

  Between them lay the nearly-completed alliance agreement. It wasn't yet a formal treaty—that would require time, ratification by their respective councils, and numerous additional clauses—but it represented a significant step toward normalizing relations between the historically distant villages.

  "I had hoped the Kazekage would join us today," Sarutobi said, the edge in his voice revealing his annoyance. "Rasa sent word he won't arrive until just before the tournament begins tomorrow."

  "Political theater," Mei suggested, tracing a finger along the rim of her teacup. "Perhaps he wishes to make an entrance."

  Sarutobi's frown deepened, lines creasing around his mouth as he puffed thoughtfully on his pipe. "It's more than that. A united front between our three villages would create stability unlike anything we've seen since the end of the Third War. Cloud and Iwa would think twice before challenging such an alliance."

  "Is that what you're after, Lord Hokage? A power bloc to counter the other great villages?" Mei asked, her green eyes studying him carefully.

  "No," Sarutobi shook his head. "What I seek is something more elusive—lasting peace."

  A slight smile touched Mei's lips. "That's quite the aspiration for a shinobi who's lived through as many wars as you have. Where does such idealism come from?"

  Sarutobi rose from his seat, walking to the window. From his vantage point, he could see genin training in a nearby field, civilians closing up shops, and children playing in the streets before dinner—all coexisting in a harmony that once seemed impossible.

  "I am one of the few still living who remembers the era before hidden villages," he said, tapping his pipe against the windowsill. "Before Hashirama and Madara put aside their differences to create something greater than their clans. Children killing children, Mei. Families annihilating families over disputes that spanned generations."

  He turned to face her. "Some say shinobi have grown soft, that the monsters of that era like Hashirama and Madara would dwarf today's ninja. Perhaps there's some truth to that."

  "But that's not the whole story, is it?" Mei prompted.

  "No," Sarutobi continued. "What they fail to recognize is that the 'average' shinobi of that time appeared stronger precisely because the weak didn't survive. Ninety percent died in their first three battles. Only the exceptional lived long enough to become legends."

  He returned to his seat, setting his pipe down. "Today, our genin can expect to live full lives. Our academics can specialize in fields beyond combat. Our medical techniques save those who would have been left to die. We've advanced, Mei, in ways that matter more than raw destructive power."

  Mei studied him for a long moment. "A compelling perspective. I find myself agreeing with much of what you say." She paused, her expression shifting subtly. "However, before we finalize our agreement, there's one matter I need to address—something that directly concerns both our villages."

  Sarutobi caught the change in her tone. He nodded for her to continue, retrieving his pipe and taking a slow draw.

  "During our examination of the previous Mizukage's rule," Mei began, her voice measured, "we discovered something disturbing. Yagura, the Fourth Mizukage, had been under the influence of a powerful genjutsu. For years. Perhaps as long as a decade."

  Sarutobi's expression remained composed, though his eyes narrowed slightly. "A genjutsu powerful enough to control a Kage, especially one who was also a jinchūriki... that's extraordinary. Few possess such ability."

  "Indeed," Mei agreed. "Our investigation indicates it was the work of an Uchiha."

  The pipe fell from Sarutobi's mouth, clattering onto the table. Tobacco scattered across the nearly-completed agreement.

  "An Uchiha?" he repeated, making no move to retrieve his pipe. "That's impossible. The only surviving Uchiha are Itachi and Sasuke. And before the massacre—" He stopped abruptly.

  "Yes, before the massacre," Mei continued, watching his reaction closely. "How can we be certain this wasn't a Konoha operation, Lord Hokage? A long-term infiltration to destabilize Kiri from within?"

  Sarutobi's face hardened as he grimaced, his hands clasping tightly in front of him. "Kirigakure's 'Bloody Mist' era began long before the Uchiha massacre. If what you're suggesting were true, it would have required planning spanning multiple Hokage administrations, including my own."

  "I'm simply addressing obvious questions," Mei replied, her tone remaining diplomatic despite the tension. "For what it's worth, I don't believe it was Konoha's doing."

  "And why is that?" Sarutobi asked, gathering himself.

  "Our intelligence section has traced numerous unauthorized financial transfers from Kiri's treasury during Yagura's reign," Mei explained. "Initially, they appeared to be going to various contractors and minor countries. However, when we followed the money further, we discovered all paths eventually led to funding a single organization—Akatsuki."

  Sarutobi's expression darkened. "Akatsuki..."

  Ao, who had been standing silently by the door, stepped forward at Mei's gesture. The cloth covering his right eye did little to hide the distinctive bulge of the Byakugan beneath.

  "You understand why I asked to bring him to these negotiations now," Mei said.

  Sarutobi nodded grimly. The stolen Byakugan had been a point of contention earlier, but he'd chosen to overlook it for the sake of the alliance talks. Now, its significance became clear.

  "What evidence do you have of this Uchiha's involvement?" Sarutobi asked. "And how did you determine a genjutsu was in place?"

  Ao bowed slightly before speaking. "With all due respect, Lord Hokage, I was suspicious of Lord Yagura's behavior for years. His policies became increasingly erratic, contradicting previous positions he had taken. When I finally managed to observe him closely with this eye..." he gestured to the covered Byakugan, "I saw the chakra distortions consistent with an ongoing genjutsu of remarkable complexity."

  "The Byakugan can see through most illusions," Sarutobi acknowledged.

  "Yes, and what I saw was unlike anything I'd encountered before," Ao continued. "Typical genjutsu manipulate the victim's senses or chakra flow. This was different—more like a continuous, adaptive control mechanism anchored directly to his brain. It evolved to counter any natural resistance he developed."

  "Only the Sharingan is capable of such precise manipulation," Sarutobi murmured, almost to himself.

  "Precisely," Mei confirmed. "Once Ao identified the genjutsu, we developed a plan to break it. We thought—hoped—that freeing Yagura might restore him to his previous self, before the bloodline purges began."

  "But it didn't work that way," Sarutobi guessed.

  Mei's expression grew solemn. "No. The moment the genjutsu was broken, a failsafe triggered. Yagura began hemorrhaging internally, his organs shutting down in rapid succession. We believe it was designed to eliminate any possibility of him revealing information about his controller."

  Sarutobi closed his eyes briefly. "Did he say anything before he died?"

  "Very little," Mei admitted. "He was in excruciating pain, but he fought through it long enough to give us fragments. He spoke of a man with one visible Sharingan eye. Someone wearing an orange spiral mask who referred to himself as 'no one' and 'Madara Uchiha' interchangeably."

  "Madara?" Sarutobi's eyes widened. "That's preposterous. Madara died decades ago, fighting Hashirama at the Valley of the End."

  "We're aware of the historical record," Mei said. "But Yagura was adamant about what he heard. This individual, whoever he truly is, possessed both the power to control a jinchūriki for years and the audacity to claim Madara's identity."

  Sarutobi stroked his beard, thinking rapidly. "What else did Yagura reveal?"

  This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

  "Only fragments," Ao answered. "Something about the Akatsuki being a means to an end. About collecting all the tailed beasts for a purpose Yagura wasn't fully informed of. And most disturbingly, that this man spoke of 'returning the world to what it should be.'"

  The room fell silent as Sarutobi processed this information. Outside, the sunset had deepened into dusk, casting long shadows across the village.

  "There's one more thing, Lord Hokage," Mei said after a moment. "Yagura was dying, and the Three-Tails was growing unstable. We made a battlefield decision."

  Understanding dawned on Sarutobi's face. "Haku."

  Mei nodded. "He was the only suitable candidate present with the necessary chakra control and physical constitution. His Yuki clan bloodline provides some natural resistance to the corrosive effects of tailed beast chakra."

  "That's why you entered him in the exams," Sarutobi realized. "To demonstrate that Kiri's jinchūriki can be stable, controlled—unlike in the past."

  "It serves multiple purposes," Mei acknowledged. "It shows our new approach while allowing Haku to test his abilities in a somewhat controlled environment. More importantly, it let me bring this information to you directly, without raising suspicions."

  Sarutobi retrieved his pipe, but didn't relight it. "This changes much, Lady Mizukage. If what you say is true, then both our villages have been manipulated by the same unseen hand."

  "The question becomes," Mei said, leaning forward, "what do we do with this knowledge? And who else might be under similar influence without realizing it?"

  Sarutobi's gaze sharpened. "The Kazekage's delay takes on new significance in this light. I've known Rasa for years, but lately, his decisions have seemed... inconsistent with his usual pragmatism."

  "You suspect he may be compromised as well?" Mei asked.

  "I don't know," Sarutobi admitted. "But these revelations demand caution. If someone has been pulling strings from the shadows for this long, we must assume their reach extends further than we currently understand."

  Ao cleared his throat. "There's one other detail from Yagura's final moments. Before he lost consciousness, he mentioned an 'eye in the moon.' None of us understood what he meant."

  Sarutobi's hands stilled. Something about that phrase triggered a memory, but he couldn't quite place it.

  "How confident are you in Haku's control over the Three-Tails?" he asked, changing direction.

  "Very," Mei answered. "His adjustment has been remarkably smooth compared to previous jinchūriki. His natural temperament and discipline have helped tremendously. Utakata has been guiding him as well."

  "Your Six-Tails jinchūriki," Sarutobi noted. "And you've brought them both to my village."

  A tense silence followed his words.

  "As a gesture of trust," Mei finally said. "I could have hidden this information, Lord Hokage. I could have kept our jinchūriki's identities secret. Instead, I've placed all my cards on the table."

  Sarutobi studied her for a long moment before nodding slowly. "So you have. And I appreciate the gesture for what it is." He returned to the alliance agreement, brushing away the scattered tobacco. "This information doesn't change my desire for this alliance, Lady Mizukage. If anything, it strengthens the necessity."

  "I agree," Mei said. "But we should add provisions for sharing intelligence regarding Akatsuki and this masked Uchiha."

  "Yes," Sarutobi concurred, reaching for a blank scroll. "And we should establish protocols for verifying the mental autonomy of key leadership in both our villages."

  Ao raised an eyebrow. "You would submit to such verification, Lord Hokage?"

  "If it helps ensure the safety of our villages? Without hesitation," Sarutobi replied. "My pride is not worth the risk this threat represents."

  Mei smiled genuinely for the first time since the revelations began. "That's why you've survived so long in this position, isn't it? The wisdom to place the village above yourself."

  "Experience, Lady Mizukage," Sarutobi corrected. "Hard-won and often painful. Now, let's modify our agreement to address these new concerns. Tomorrow's finals will have every eye in the elemental nations upon us—the perfect opportunity to demonstrate our unified front."

  As they began redrafting sections of the agreement, Sarutobi couldn't shake the unsettling thought that had been growing since Mei's revelation. If an Uchiha powerful enough to control a jinchūriki Kage for years was out there, moving in the shadows... what else might they be planning? And just how deep did their influence already reach?

  The answers would have to wait. For now, cementing this alliance was the priority—a first step toward countering a threat neither village could face alone.

  Danzo Shimura walked through the underground passages beneath Konoha, the tap of his cane echoing against stone walls worn smooth by decades of secrecy. Two shadows glided behind him—Torune and Fū, his most trusted ROOT operatives. The old war hawk's face remained impassive, but beneath that carefully maintained exterior, irritation festered.

  Kabuto Yakushi had become a liability.

  Ever since that mission in Iwa five years ago, the medic-nin's loyalty had grown increasingly suspect. Something had changed in him—a subtle shift in demeanor, a tendency to withhold crucial details until the last moment. Danzo couldn't determine if Orochimaru had turned him or if the boy had simply developed ambitions of his own.

  Yet he still occasionally provided actionable intelligence, which made him too valuable to eliminate outright. A tool with a loose handle could still cut, provided one gripped it carefully.

  "Danzo-sama," Fū murmured from behind his right shoulder, "we've secured the meeting location as requested. Three escape routes have been prepared."

  Danzo gave a curt nod. "And surveillance?"

  "Disabled," Torune answered, his voice muffled behind his mask. "All potential observation points are under our control."

  "Good."

  The message from Kabuto had been uncharacteristically urgent—claiming information of such critical importance that if Danzo didn't respond immediately, he would take it directly to the Hokage. A transparent manipulation tactic, but potentially revealing in its desperation. Either the information was genuinely vital, or this was an elaborate trap.

  Danzo was prepared for both possibilities.

  They emerged into a small, windowless room beneath an abandoned storage facility in Konoha's industrial district. The air smelled of dust and disuse, with the faintest hint of antiseptic—Kabuto's signature scent.

  The silver-haired medic was already waiting, his glasses catching the dim light as he paced. When he noticed their arrival, his movements stilled, though Danzo's trained eye caught the subtle tension in his shoulders, the barely perceptible tremor in his hands.

  "Danzo-sama," Kabuto bowed, his voice carefully modulated. "Thank you for coming so quickly."

  "Your message suggested it would be unwise to delay," Danzo replied coldly. "I assume this information justifies the dramatic summons."

  Kabuto's nervousness appeared to subside slightly at Danzo's presence. A practiced performance, or genuine relief? The boy had always been difficult to read.

  "Yes, sir." Kabuto reached into his pouch and produced a scroll sealed with an unfamiliar mark. "Three days ago, I came across intelligence indicating that the Kazekage, Rasa, was assassinated approximately three months ago."

  Danzo paused, reassessing the situation. Concerning indeed—particularly since he knew Sarutobi had been in direct communication with "Rasa" during that timeframe. If accurate, this meant someone had not only managed to kill a Kage but had been successfully impersonating him for months without detection.

  This reeked of Orochimaru.

  Danzo signaled for Torune to take the scroll. The Aburame approached cautiously, his kikaichu insects slipping from beneath his sleeve to survey the parchment for traps or poisons before he touched it. After several moments, he deemed it safe, taking the scroll and methodically checking its contents.

  "The information appears genuine, Danzo-sama," Torune concluded, passing it to his master.

  Danzo unrolled the parchment with his good hand, scanning the contents while maintaining awareness of Kabuto's position. The report was detailed—descriptions of Rasa's fighting style that only high-level Sand shinobi would know, intelligence on his personal guards, and the method used to dispose of the body. Most damning was a transcript of a conversation between the Kazekage and his council that contradicted actual policies implemented in the past months.

  Troublesome, to borrow the Nara expression. Yet not without opportunity.

  If revealed at the precise moment with the right culprit identified, this information could send Sand shinobi into a vengeful frenzy. They might hurl themselves at whoever killed their Kage, weakening their village enough to be reduced to minor status. Or perhaps absorption into Konoha's ranks would be possible—their strongest bloodlines finally under Leaf control.

  The possibilities branched before Danzo's strategic mind like a tree of potential futures, each requiring careful pruning to yield the desired outcome.

  "How did you come by this intelligence?" Danzo asked, his eye fixed on Kabuto.

  "One of my contacts in Sand's medical corps noticed inconsistencies in the Kazekage's chakra signature during a routine health assessment. When she investigated further, she disappeared. Her notes were smuggled out by a colleague who feared the same fate."

  Plausible. Perhaps too plausible.

  "And this colleague reached out to you specifically?" Danzo pressed.

  "I have cultivated relationships with medical personnel in all the major villages," Kabuto replied, pushing his glasses up. "My reputation for discretion precedes me."

  Danzo crushed the scroll in his fist, his mind already calculating. This revelation would require immediate action, yet the timing was suspect with the Chunin Exam finals mere hours away. Was this information deliberately withheld until now to force his hand? Or was it part of a larger scheme?

  He felt a wave of exhaustion suddenly wash over him. The endless machinations, the constant vigilance—sometimes he wondered if Sarutobi had claimed the more straightforward path by presenting a benevolent face to the world while leaving the shadows to others.

  No. Danzo straightened his back. Such thoughts were unworthy. Someone had to bear the burden of necessary darkness to preserve the light. If not him, then who? Certainly not these soft generations Sarutobi had raised, too concerned with individual bonds to see the village as the supreme entity it must be.

  His best candidate for succession was perhaps the Uchiha boy, but even there, he couldn't escape his sensei's warnings: never trust an Uchiha with a position of power. The boy showed promise, but that bloodline carried inherent instability.

  A wave of fatigue struck him again, stronger this time. His thoughts felt sluggish, his limbs heavy. This wasn't natural.

  "Kai!" Danzo sharply released a burst of chakra, attempting to dispel any genjutsu affecting him.

  Nothing changed.

  "Torune, Fū—apprehend him," Danzo commanded, but his bodyguards remained motionless, their eyes vacant beneath their masks.

  Kabuto chuckled, still standing in precisely the same spot. His posture had changed completely—relaxed, confident, the nervousness evaporated like morning dew.

  "Do you know why the Cursed Tongue Eradication Seal isn't used widely anymore, Danzo-sama?" Kabuto asked conversationally, as if discussing an interesting medical case. "It's a fascinating study in seal architecture, really. Seals can't think, so their ability to interpret a user's actions must be routed through what the brain perceives it's about to do."

  Danzo's hand inched toward the bandages covering his right eye. If he could activate Izanagi, he could reverse whatever was happening and eliminate this threat.

  "Even subconscious intentions trigger the seal," Kabuto continued, walking slowly around Torune and Fū, who remained paralyzed. "So if you make the brain believe that whatever action it's contemplating violates the seal's directive—regardless of what that action actually is—the seal activates."

  Kabuto tapped Torune's mask where the seal was inscribed on his tongue.

  "A glaring weakness, though admittedly difficult to exploit without knowing the seal's conditional parameters." He smiled thinly. "Your ROOT conditioning is thorough, but predictable."

  Danzo glared with undisguised contempt. "So you are Orochimaru's tool after all. That simplifies matters."

  He moved to remove the bandages covering his implanted Sharingan eyes, but his fingers felt numb, unresponsive. His legs buckled, forcing him to catch himself against the wall.

  "Feeling your age, Danzo-sama?" Kabuto approached, his medical knowledge evident in the clinical assessment of Danzo's deteriorating condition. "Hashirama cells are remarkable, aren't they? They provide extraordinary vitality, making you feel decades younger, enhancing your healing, extending your life."

  Kabuto's fingers glowed with diagnostic chakra as he reached toward Danzo's arm, stopping just short of touching him.

  "There's a small downside, however. The body naturally uses the most efficient energy source available, and what doesn't get used tends to atrophy. So when you suddenly can't access those Hashirama cells your system has adapted to for the past five years..."

  Even Danzo's thoughts felt like they were wading through mud. He needed to activate Izanagi, but the technique was chakra-intensive. The ability to use it repeatedly was precisely why he'd incorporated Hashirama's cells in the first place.

  "How?" Danzo managed, slumping further against the wall. "Torune checked. Aburame... detect poison."

  "A fair question." Kabuto knelt beside the weakening elder. "The poison wasn't on the scroll—it was in the air. Odorless, colorless, and completely harmless to anyone without Hashirama cells integrated into their system. For them, it simply disrupts the connection between host cells and the foreign tissue. A targeted agent, you might say."

  Danzo's single visible eye widened fractionally. That level of biochemical sophistication surpassed even Orochimaru's known capabilities.

  "It's my own creation," Kabuto added, as if reading his thoughts. "Orochimaru-sama provided guidance, but the formulation is uniquely mine. You might say I've developed a specialty in cellular integration disruption."

  The door opened, and two figures entered—Mizuki and Tsubaki, both wearing Chunin vests but with cold, calculating expressions that belied their usual personas.

  "Take these two," Kabuto instructed, gesturing toward Fū and Torune. "Standard procedure as we discussed. Their conditioning makes them particularly susceptible to memory alteration. By tomorrow, they'll accept whatever reality we present."

  Mizuki grinned, a cruel edge to his expression as he hefted Torune over his shoulder. "The famous ROOT indoctrination—turns them into perfect soldiers but ruins their critical thinking. They'll follow orders from 'Danzo' without question, even when those orders undermine Konoha."

  "That's why they missed the poison," Kabuto explained to Danzo as his accomplices removed the paralyzed guards. "They only checked for threats they could conceptualize. ROOT operatives excel at following protocols but struggle with creative problem-solving. Those who do show independent thought tend to disappear, don't they, Danzo-sama?"

  The door closed behind Mizuki and Tsubaki, leaving Kabuto alone with the immobilized elder.

  Danzo struggled to form a response, his tongue feeling thick and unresponsive in his mouth. His body—once kept vital by the First Hokage's cells—was rapidly failing him.

  Kabuto's hand glowed with sickly green medical chakra, different from the diagnostic technique he'd used earlier. This was something designed to cause pain rather than heal.

  "This is going to take some time, Danzo-sama," Kabuto said softly, his voice dropping to a whisper. "And I'm afraid it will be quite painful. But don't worry—'Danzo' will be there in time for the finals tomorrow."

  He leaned closer, his lips nearly touching Danzo's ear.

  "This is for Nono," he whispered, and the name sent a jolt of recognition through Danzo's fading consciousness.

  The orphanage matron. The spy who had outlived her usefulness. The woman who had raised Kabuto as her son.

  The woman Danzo had ordered killed when her existence became inconvenient.

  Understanding dawned in Danzo's eye a moment before Kabuto's chakra-infused hand made contact with his chest, and the old war hawk experienced pain unlike anything in his decades of shinobi service.

  His last coherent thought was that perhaps the village would be better served by his absence after all.

  Morning light filtered through the gaps in Konoha's canopy, casting dappled shadows across the village streets. Citizens and visiting dignitaries alike were already moving toward the arena where the Chunin Exam finals would be held.

  None paid particular attention to the bandaged elder making his way from an unremarkable building in the industrial district, his cane tapping rhythmically against the ground.

  "Danzo-sama!"

  Two figures appeared beside him—Fū and Torune, kneeling respectfully.

  "We've returned as ordered," Fū reported, his voice tight with urgency. "After escaping our captors, we secured the area but found no trace of Kabuto."

  "We believe he fled the village," Torune added. "Shall we pursue?"

  'Danzo' regarded them with his usual stern expression, revealing nothing of his thoughts.

  "No. Dispose of the body you'll find inside," he ordered, gesturing toward the building he'd just exited. "Then deliver these orders to our operatives in the arena security detail."

  He handed Fū a sealed scroll.

  Torune hesitated, his training momentarily asserting itself through the memory alteration. "Verification code, sir?"

  "Shadows preserve the roots," 'Danzo' responded without hesitation.

  Both ROOT agents nodded, accepting the scroll and vanishing to carry out their tasks.

  Alone for a moment, 'Danzo' allowed himself a brief smile of satisfaction before his features settled back into the impassive mask of Konoha's most notorious elder.

  The day of reckoning had arrived, and not even the death of Rasa would prevent what was coming. The invasion would proceed as planned, and by day's end, Konoha would learn what it meant to face the wrath of Orochimaru.

  'Danzo' adjusted his bandages and continued toward the arena, where destiny awaited.