The meeting room was rather silent, relatively speaking, after Mito finished speaking.
"I'm in for attacking Kiri," grunted an Uzumaki clansman, cracking his knuckles with a sound like popping bamboo.
"Yeah, me too," a second voice chimed in, followed by a chorus of gruff affirmations.
It was less a vote and more a wave of aggressive agreement crashing through the allied clans.
The Uzumaki, normally the village's vibrant, life-loving heart, wore expressions of grim resolve. Their conflict with Kiri wasn't for one or two days; it was a generational grudge, freshly salted by Tobirama's death and the subsequent uptick in Kiri ninjas trying to snatch their fuinjutsu scrolls—and their children—from Uzushio's shores.
The Uchiha, of course, needed no historical grievance.
An Uchiha, very excited that he had activated his perfect Sharingan, folded his arms. "Are we afraid of them? Are we cowards who can only defend? No. We are shinobi, returning to Konoha without even fighting the enemy, without a scratch on our armor? This isn't our Uchiha clan virtue."
A murmur of righteous agreement swept through his clansmen.
For most of them, a peaceful mission was a failed mission; they were Uchiha, who would take dangerous missions just so that it would inspire them when they were blocked in their mangas.
The Senju, meanwhile, were the calm center of the storm. Less theatrical, but no less formidable.
They were the people who'd invented the ninja arts of mass destruction and then had the audacity to call it 'medical ninjutsu' and 'stable political infrastructure.'
Azula's lips curled into a smile that was all sharp edges. "Well. That was unanimous. It seems the only thing left to discuss is: how do we attack? Kiri is a headless snake right now, thrashing in its own nest. A perfect time for… decisive pruning."
Tsunade nodded, agreeing with her.
"Cripple their frontline forces now, and they're out of the next great war. It spares Konoha a knife in the back later," she said, her tone practical. "And maybe, it teaches those fish-breathed kidnappers to keep their fins off Uzushio."
Though the formal Senju clan was dissolved, every warrior in the tent with a vajra on their back glanced at Tsunade. She was their touchstone, their unspoken commander; her approval made their resolve solidify from rock to diamond.
All eyes then swung to the last holdout: Shinji. Mito turned her gentle gaze on him.
Shinji felt the many eyes staring at him.
"Well, when you put it like that," he said, throwing his hands up in surrender. "I also support attacking Kiri. The Uzumaki need to show the world we aren't cowardly chickens to be slaughtered, and that there are consequences for daring to lay their hands on us, especially Kiri, whose Mizukage was even the one who dared to lead the attack to annihilate us."
"Then the first decision of this meeting," Mito announced, her voice calm and ceremonial, "is that we will attack Kirigakure. They have lost their Kage, and we will take advantage of that weakness—cripple them badly enough that they won't be able to take part in the next war."
As the one presiding over the meeting, routine or not, it was her responsibility to say it out loud.
"As for the method," Azula continued smoothly, picking up the thread without hesitation, "it doesn't need to be complicated. The main assault force will consist of three thousand shinobi. Their objective is simple: any Kiri ninja they encounter dies."
Then she went on, tone unchanged.
"A second unit will be tasked with eliminating those who attempt to flee. One of its divisions will specialize in barrier techniques, sealing off escape routes and ensuring no one slips through the cracks."
She tilted her head slightly, as if discussing troop placement on a training field rather than an attack on one of the Five Great Villages.
"Of course, that's only the framework. We still need to refine the details—who leads the primary assault, which direction we strike from, which targets are prioritized for elimination if the opportunity presents itself…"
Planning a large-scale attack was never simple. If this were a small elite squad, things could be far more relaxed—they could adapt on the fly, extract themselves if needed, and Azula could always yank them back with Flying Raijin if things went south.
But this was different.
Three thousand shinobi, marching straight into Kirigakure—a major village with likely over ten thousand ninja within its borders. Mist, terrain, numbers, and politics all waiting to turn ugly.
Shinji found himself staring at Azula with renewed scrutiny.
He knew she was brilliant; everyone did. He'd heard the stories—her innovations, her theories, rumors that some of her ideas brushed dangerously close to Tobirama Senju's level of genius.
And yet, ever since she'd arrived in Uzushio, what Shinji had mostly seen was indifference and recklessness. A disturbing lack of concern, as if the entire ninja world hovering on the brink of chaos was just… background noise.
Sure, she occasionally did something undeniably clever. But that image didn't quite match reality.
After all—what kind of genius casually drew manga for fun while every major village was watching her like a loaded explosive tag?
But watching her now—calmly laying out an attack plan, piece by piece, without even a hint of the typical Uchiha 'we rush in and let the Sharingan sort it out' arrogance—he had to admit something.
She really was worthy of her reputation.
That said… a very uncomfortable question began forming in his mind. Who exactly was the think tank here?
Because honestly—
The Uchiha were famous for their pride.
The Senju for their overwhelming boldness.
And the Uzumaki? Well… enthusiasm first, consequences later.
None of those traits screamed meticulous planners.
He genuinely couldn't imagine these clans sitting down and calmly thinking through every possible outcome instead of arguing, flexing chakra, or punching a table for emphasis.
And yet—to his absolute disbelief—that was exactly what was happening.
Azula, Mito, Tajima, Murasake, and Mugetsu fell into a rhythm so natural it was almost frightening.
Maps were adjusted, timelines refined, and contingencies layered on top of contingencies.
They spoke in half-sentences, finished each other's thoughts, and somehow managed to understand everything without needing to spell it out.
It reached a point where even someone merely listening—without context or explanation—could still follow the logic of their discussion.
Three hours passed. Then a little more.
By now, Nawaki was dying inside. His soul had left his body somewhere around the second hour, and all that remained was a shell desperately waiting for the word 'dismissed'.
His legs twitched, his eyes wandered, but most importantly, his stomach growled loudly enough that a sensory-type ninja might've mistaken it for hostile intent.
He desperately wanted to leave. But then he glanced at Tsunade—who was also clearly searching for an excuse to escape—and immediately abandoned the idea.
If he gave her even the chance to scold him for being impatient, she absolutely would, and she would even enjoy it.
"It seems this is enough for today," Mito finally said, her voice calm and decisive. "In five days, we will attack Kirigakure."
The room went still.
"This will be considered the first true invasion of one of the Five Great Villages since the founding of the shinobi system."
The moment Mito said enough for today, Nawaki felt so moved he nearly teared up. It's over. It's finally over.
If this had been a movie, uplifting music would've played. If it had been a battlefield, he would've collapsed in relief.
Azula noticed his expression immediately—and it triggered a memory from her past life on Earth, of school precisely.
That exact moment when the bell rang, everyone relaxed… …and the teacher said, "Before you leave—"
Pure trauma.
A mischievous glint appeared in her eyes. She turned toward Mito, her tone perfectly innocent. "It seems Fugaku and Nawaki followed this meeting very closely. I imagine they must have some doubts they'd like clarified."
She smiled sweetly.
"As the future pillars of their respective clans, I don't think it would be a problem for them to stay a little longer. Right?"
Fugaku stiffened—then nodded enthusiastically, his eyes practically shining. He had hundreds of questions.
Be they tactical, political, or hypothetical scenarios that had been clawing at his brain for hours but that he hadn't dared voice during the meeting.
This was his moment.
Nawaki, who knew Fugaku far too well, felt only despair.
By the time he's done, Nawaki thought darkly, we'll be planning the second invasion.
Two… maybe three more hours.
His soul left his body again.
(END OF THE CHAPTER)
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