The shadows beneath Konoha were different.
They weren't natural. They clung to the walls like living things, heavy with unspoken oaths and silent atrocities. The tunnels were carved long ago, reinforced with fuinjutsu, and sealed with blood.
Arashi Hatake moved quietly through them.
He didn't belong here. Not officially. No one did, unless they were part of Root—Danzo Shimura's private army, trained in silence, bred for obedience.
But Arashi had learned early in this life that if he wanted to survive, he couldn't afford to follow rules. Especially the ones built to keep people like him ignorant.
He crouched behind a wall, breath steady, eyes locked on a pair of masked Root operatives walking past. They didn't speak. Their footsteps were precise, synchronized. Just like everything else Danzo trained.
Arashi waited until they vanished around a curve before moving deeper into the corridor, careful not to touch the walls. Root hallways were often laced with detection tags. He'd memorized their patterns during a training simulation he'd recreated in his mental realm—based on vague fragments from the canon he still remembered and reinforced with logic.
He needed information.
His father's reputation was teetering. After the incident with the Suna convoy, whispers had turned into rumors. High-ranking Leaf officials were starting to question Sakumo's loyalty. Why hadn't he been part of the strike mission? Why had his son returned alone?
Danzo was behind it. Arashi knew the pattern—destabilize, isolate, eliminate.
The White Fang was too powerful. Too moral. Danzo would rather poison his reputation than confront him directly. And Arashi couldn't let that happen. Not again.
In his last life, he'd watched too many heroes fall to the same kind of politics. This time, he would be ready.
He reached a sealed door. No guards. No chakra signatures. But he could feel the presence behind it—thick and watching.
He pulled a small scroll from his vest and unsealed a single black marker. Not a weapon. Just ink infused with chakra. He traced a crude eye symbol onto the floor. A few hand signs later, the ink shimmered.
The chakra-vision jutsu activated.
Through the thin layer of stone, he saw silhouettes—six people. Two seated. One standing. The rest... kneeling.
He leaned in, listening.
"…the boy is adapting faster than expected," a voice said. Calm. Cold.
Danzo.
Arashi's heart slowed.
"He lacks emotional instability. Unlike his father," Danzo continued. "He could be… redirected."
"He's not under our control," another voice said. Female. Sharp.
"Not yet," Danzo replied.
There was a pause.
"Then there's the matter of the Suna corpses," the woman continued. "Too clean. No wasted motion. ANBU thought it was your work."
"It wasn't," Danzo said. "But it may be useful to let them believe so."
"You suspect the elder Hatake boy?"
Danzo didn't answer immediately.
When he finally spoke, his tone was measured.
"I suspect we've underestimated him."
Arashi didn't flinch, didn't breathe.
"I want surveillance increased," Danzo said. "But do not engage. If he is who I believe he is becoming… he may be more valuable alive."
The chakra vision faded.
Arashi silently resealed his tools and slipped back into the tunnels.
He'd heard enough.
Danzo had noticed him. Not fully, but enough to begin circling. That was both good and bad. Good, because Danzo wouldn't try to kill what he still thought he could use. Bad, because Root didn't make offers—they took.
Arashi moved faster, sticking to the shadows, ignoring the spike of pain in his left side where the bruised ribs hadn't fully healed.
He reached a service hatch that exited near the outskirts of the training grounds. He waited a full minute before moving the seal, replaced the latch, then slipped into the trees.
By the time the sun rose, he was already back in his quarters.
A knock came an hour later.
He didn't answer.
Sakumo entered anyway.
The White Fang looked tired. His white hair was still damp from early-morning drills, and his armor carried the scent of steel and cedar oil.
"You went out last night," Sakumo said flatly.
"I did."
"Why?"
"I needed answers."
Sakumo didn't shout. He rarely did. But disappointment crept into his voice.
"You could've been captured. Killed."
"No," Arashi said. "I couldn't."
Sakumo's jaw tightened.
"What did you find?"
"They're planning something," Arashi said. "Danzo's laying the groundwork to isolate you. To paint you as a liability."
Sakumo looked away.
"I know."
Arashi blinked.
"You've known?"
"I've seen it coming for months," Sakumo said quietly. "Ever since I refused to let Root use civilian orphans in the border campaigns. Danzo wanted assets. I said no."
"So now they want to turn the village against you," Arashi muttered.
"They already are."
For a moment, the room was still.
"You should've told me," Arashi said.
"I didn't want to drag you into it."
"I was already in it the day I was born into this family."
Sakumo looked at him. "You're just a boy."
"I'm not. Not really."
Sakumo frowned. "What do you mean?"
Arashi considered saying more—but stopped himself.
Too soon. Too dangerous.
Instead, he said, "Just promise me something."
"What?"
"When it gets bad—when they start to push you—don't break."
Sakumo's gaze grew distant.
"I'm not worried about myself," he said. "I'm worried about what happens to you and Kakashi."
"That's what I'm trying to fix."
Later that day, Arashi took his leave and made his way to a training ground on the edge of the woods. The regular Konoha ones were filled with noisy genin squads and bored chūnin. He needed solitude.
He slipped into his mental realm.
The sky above him was muted gray, the air still.
He summoned a shadow.
Zoro, shirtless, three swords already drawn.
The simulation grinned. "Back already?"
"Again," Arashi said.
They clashed.
Zoro's swordwork was relentless. Wild but controlled. Arashi had long since stopped trying to match him blade for blade. Instead, he moved like a shinobi—close quarters, sharp angles, using the environment. Kunai mixed with feints. Grapples followed by precise strikes.
He didn't need to win. He needed to adapt.
An hour later—equivalent to days inside the mental space—he sat on a rock, blood dripping from his chin, smiling through the pain.
With every defeat, he got better.
He closed his eyes and listened to the silence around him.
In the real world, night hadn't even fallen yet.
When he returned to consciousness, a message scroll sat at the edge of the training field.
He recognized the mark.
ANBU.
He opened it.
One line.
"Meet at the Naka Shrine. Midnight. Come alone."
No signature.
But the meaning was clear.
Someone was watching. And they were ready to talk.
Arashi's eyes narrowed.
If this was Danzo's trap… he'd walk into it anyway.
Prepared.
To be continued.