The dawn light that filtered through Konoha's towering main gate was pale and watery, lending a sombre, washed-out quality to the gathering. The giant wooden doors stood partially open, revealing a slice of the winding road that disappeared into the dense forests of the Land of Fire.
The assembly was small but significant. Hiruzen, the Third Hokage, stood at the centre, clad not in ceremonial robes but in practical, dark travel gear, his Hokage hat the only symbol of his office.
Before him stood Jiraiya, his normally boisterous energy compressed into a watchful intensity. To Jiraiya's left was Nara Shiba, his expression one of weary competence. Minato, who was beside Shiba, was relaxed, but his blue eyes were sharply focused. Beside Hiruzen were Renjiro and Kakashi, the designated escort for the journey ahead.
Hiruzen's gaze settled first on Minato and Shiba. "The village is in your hands. Minato, your authority as Jonin Commander is now absolute in my absence. Shiba, your counsel is the bedrock he will build upon. See that the foundation remains steady."
It was a masterful piece of stagecraft—publicly cementing Minato's new role while subtly reminding all present that Shiba's experience was the true stabilising force.
He then turned his head slightly toward Jiraiya. "And you, keep an eye on things."
The instruction was vague to an outsider, but the glance that flickered between Hiruzen and Jiraiya spoke volumes: Watch over Minato. Watch over the village. Be ready.
He then turned to the two younger shinobi. "Kakashi. Renjiro. Are you prepared?"
Kakashi's response was immediate, "Yes, Hokage-sama."
Renjiro's answer was quieter, a professional murmur. "Ready."
Hiruzen studied them for a second, his dark eyes missing nothing—the tension in Kakashi's shoulders, the detached calm in Renjiro's gaze.
"This is framed as a diplomatic tour. Visits to allies and neutrals to solidify Konoha's position in the post-war landscape. But do not mistake polite words for a lack of stakes. Every handshake, every observed detail, every whispered rumour we gather will shape our security for the next decade." His tone was grave, then it shifted, lightening with a faint, almost imperceptible smirk that creased the corners of his eyes.
"That said… try to keep up."
Without another word, without a signal, Hiruzen vanished.
It was a flicker—a displacement of air so fast and clean it made a soft hum of vacuum.
Kakashi was moving almost before the Hokage had fully disappeared, his own body flickering in pursuit.
Renjiro's sigh was internal, but the slight drop of his shoulders was real. Then he pushed off, his own departure a silent, efficient burst of speed that left the gate guards blinking.
The instant he matched the Hokage's pace, Renjiro's internal assessment snapped into focus.
'He's moving… seriously.'
This wasn't the travel speed of a statesman on a tour. This was the pace of a shinobi on a high-priority infiltration mission. The trees beside the road became a continuous green wall, the world narrowing to the strip of packed earth and the two figures ahead.
He could see Kakashi, a dozen meters behind Hiruzen, pushing hard. The younger jōnin's form was perfect, but Renjiro could detect the minute strain—the slightly tighter set of his shoulders, the fractionally heavier footfalls.
Kakashi was refusing to show weakness, but he was operating at his absolute limit to maintain this blistering speed. Renjiro filed the observation away, a silent note of respect and concern.
Renjiro's mind flashed back to the last time he had been part of a Hokage's escort to a Kage summit, years ago. That journey, which had preceded the Third Shinobi War, had been different.
The pace was measured, stately. Minato had been part of that guard detail. The atmosphere had been one of wary preparation, not this… this pointed haste.
The comparison was stark.
'This is faster. Sharper. Like a blade being drawn, not a scroll being unrolled.'
And Minato was conspicuously, deliberately, left behind in the village. A strategic choice, surely, to solidify his new authority. But as they ate up the miles with relentless, silent speed, Renjiro's internal scepticism grew. 'We have a thousand kilometres to cover, visits to make, and he leaves the Yellow Flash—the man who could be anywhere in an instant—sitting at a desk.'
He forced his mind to review the briefing from the previous day. The itinerary was a winding route: first to a few minor, allied shinobi villages, then a stop at the capital to pay respects to the Daimyo, and finally, the stated destination: the neutral, Land of Iron. A logical path for a Hokage securing his sphere of influence.
Yet, Renjiro's dissatisfaction simmered.
'These minor village visits could be handled by a trusted ambassador. The Daimyo's court is a nest of bureaucracy where we'll waste days on ceremony. This feels less like efficiency and more like… theatre. Or a cover.'
He understood his role, of course. He was a combination of bodyguard, strategic asset, and political symbol—the Uchiha (or near-Uchiha) willingly serving the Hokage's will.
'I serve at the pleasure of the Hokage,' he reminded himself, the thought a cool, restraining bar across his instincts.
'My opinions on route efficiency are not required. Only my presence and my obedience.'
The journey settled into a gruelling rhythm. Long stretches of silent, high-speed travel, punctuated by brief, wordless stops at remote waypoints to check bearings. Conversation was nonexistent.
Hiruzen led, a silent, relentless force. Kakashi followed, a study in focused endurance. Renjiro brought up the rear, his senses expanded, monitoring the forest around them.
The silence wasn't peaceful; it was oppressive. It gave space to the things unsaid. In Kakashi's case, Renjiro could almost feel the storm of trauma the boy carried—the blood of comrades on young hands, the psychic scars of a war ended too late for his generation.
Kakashi moved with the precision of a master tool, but his silence was a wall, thick and isolating. Renjiro noted it, analysed it, but did not breach it. But some wounds had no diplomatic solution.
They had left at noon. The sun was now a bleeding orange wound on the western horizon when Hiruzen finally slowed, not for a rest, but because their first destination lay ahead. The forest thinned, revealing cultivated fields and, beyond, a village nestled in a valley.
Kusagakure. The Village Hidden in the Grass.
It was one of Konoha's intended buffer states against the aggressive expansion of Iwagakure. During the war, theory had crumbled before reality. Iwa had rolled over Kusa's defences, occupying it and using its territory as a forward staging ground to launch attacks deep into the Land of Fire.
The war was over, Iwa had withdrawn, but the stain remained. Kusa's neutrality was a shattered concept, its trustworthiness as thin as parchment and just as easily burned.
The visual contrast to Konoha was immediate and telling. The gate was smaller, less imposing, made of weathered timber and reinforced with rusty metal bands.
The walls surrounding the village were lower, showing patches of recent, hasty repair. But as they drew closer, Renjiro detected the faint, telltale glimmer of chakra.
'Seal arrays.'
Dozens of them, embedded in the wood and stone. Not defensive barriers, but amplification and early-warning systems. The work was clever, efficient, and spoke of profound paranoia. These weren't the seals of confidence; they were the nervous system of a village that had been violated and expected it to happen again.
Hiruzen came to a complete stop at a respectful distance from the gate, his breathing barely elevated. Kakashi and Renjiro settled beside him, their arrival silent.
Two Kusa-nin guards, looking lean and wary in their rust-colored attire, stepped forward from their posts. Their eyes widened momentarily at the sight of the Hokage's hat, but their posture remained rigid, distrustful.
"Halt. Identify yourselves and your business in Kusagakure," the lead guard stated, his voice trying for authority but landing on strained formality.
Renjiro felt a spike of irritation. The Hokage of Konoha, your nominal protector and most powerful ally, stands at your gate, and you demand identification?
He didn't wait for Hiruzen to respond. His voice, colder than the settling evening air, cut in. "The Hokage of Konohagakure has come to visit. You will escort us to the Kusakage. Now."
The expectation hung in the air: immediate deference, flustered apology, a hurried opening of the gates. The two guards exchanged a look. It wasn't fear or respect Renjiro saw in that glance. It was something harder, more calculating. A silent communication that bypassed diplomacy entirely.
The lead guard's hand moved, not to his forehead in a salute, but to the weapon pouch at his thigh.
"You will wait here for verification," he said, his tone now stripped of all pretence.
'This is wrong—'
Renjiro never completed the thought.
The betrayal was absolute. There was no shout, no declaration of war, no diplomatic rupture. One moment, there was tense silence. The next, the very air screamed.
From slits in the wooden gate, from camouflaged positions in the tall grass to their flanks, from the seal-laden walls themselves, a concentrated barrage of ninjutsu erupted. Not clumsy, wild attacks, but a coordinated kill-box assault. Sharp, whistling Wind Scythes sliced horizontally at chest level. Globs of corrosive Earth-style mud, hardened to concrete in mid-air, rained down to immobilise. And from the gate seals, a blinding, concussive wave of raw chakra disruption pulsed outward, aimed not to injure, but to disorient and shatter any defensive technique.
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