Chapter 3: The Web
Nawaki still couldn't quite believe it.
Was it really so hard to make people like Orochimaru, Big Brother Jiraiya, or Uncle Nara, Yamanaka, and Akimichi like him? They already liked him a lot!
So the only thing keeping him from becoming Hokage… was age?
"Damn it. If only I were a few years older…"
In Tsunade's eyes, a flicker of cunning passed like a shadow.
She understood now. She had picked up on the goodwill of this unfamiliar Genin. Compared to herself, this outsider had a natural ability to connect with Nawaki—he could integrate "life lessons" into things the boy actually cared about. That was something she had never been able to do.
She was too busy. Too busy with the war, with her research into advanced medical ninjutsu, too entangled with the Sandaime's expectations and the tangled mess left behind by the Senju clan's legacy.
There was only one Tsunade… and she couldn't stretch herself any thinner.
Maybe what Nawaki needed wasn't just a sister… but someone to walk beside him as he grew. Someone he wouldn't grow to resent.
With that thought, Tsunade gave her little brother a kiss on the cheek, then asked solemnly:
"The person who told you this secret—what's his name? Do you like him?"
Seeing her serious face, Nawaki hesitated. He twisted his fingers nervously before finally giving a firm answer:
"His name is Minamoto Ren. He's a Genin from Team Seventeen. I… I really like him. Talking to him just feels… right."
Tsunade listened, processing each word. She nodded slowly, then waved him off with a rare softness in her tone.
"It's fine now. Go play."
Nawaki vanished in a flash, already bursting with excitement.
Tsunade sat alone for a while, writing names down on a scroll, only to cross most of them out.
In the end, one name remained: Minamoto Ren.
She had made up her mind.
Rising to her feet, she formed a quick sequence of hand seals. A gust of wind blew through the house—and just like that, the room was empty. Only the open window swayed slightly in the night breeze.
---
That same night, at precisely 9 p.m., Minamoto Ren had just finished his training routine and taken a shower. He was lying down, ready for sleep, when the previously silent Power System finally stirred to life.
[Power Index fluctuation detected.
Current Power Index: 1
First successful manipulation of Hokage factional influence.
Authority Manifestation: Shikotsumyaku (Dead Bone Pulse)]
Minamoto Ren's breath caught in his throat—but his face remained calm, eyes gently closed.
"I'd like to know the details of this power shift," he said quietly.
[As you wish. The secondary power agent who enabled your success: Senju Tsunade.]
[At 5:45 PM, Senju Nawaki engaged in a brief conversation with Senju Tsunade. This affected her judgment.]
[At 5:55 PM, Tsunade temporarily adjusted team assignments. You have been transferred into Team Ten—Nawaki's unit. Mizunomaru was removed from the Prince's team to make room.]
[At 8:35 PM, this personnel change was submitted to the Hokage, Hiruzen Sarutobi. He reviewed and approved it.]
[Personnel decisions are power. Your ability to manipulate hearts and tilt the balance of influence is… impressive.]
"Ha… hahahaha!"
For someone who always appeared calm, refined, and almost overly polite, Minamoto Ren suddenly burst into wild laughter as he sat upright on his futon. The thrill of manipulating power—of pulling invisible strings—was absolutely intoxicating.
"Shikotsumyaku. Dead Bone Pulse!"
Ren extended his arm, and with a faint crack, a sharpened bone spike jutted from beneath his skin. He ran his fingers along its surface, feeling not just strength—but the manifestation of power itself.
Not chakra.
Not bloodline.
But the tangible form of Hokage-era political influence.
Power was a vast web. Even the faintest tremor in its furthest threads could ripple across the entire network. Any challenge had a solution—so long as you could identify the right person to move.
"Senju Nawaki… I truly owe you."
Ren's voice dropped, feral and low.
"If I'd stayed in Team Seventeen during this war, I probably wouldn't have survived. But under you—I'll make it through."
His smile twisted.
It was the look of a man intoxicated not by bloodlust, but by control.
Power-hungry beasts were always the same. Always wanting to be just a little closer to the center. Just one step nearer to the flame.
"Goodnight, Nawaki."
He yanked the bone spike from his arm and tossed it into the waste bin. Then, with a calm, contented smile, he lay back and sank into the sweetest sleep of his life.
---
The next morning.
A chūnin arrived to deliver Ren's reassignment notice.
"You've been transferred out of Team Seventeen," he muttered, clearly trying to sound neutral. But the twist at the corner of his mouth betrayed a quiet envy.
Not long after, Mizunomaru—now officially removed from the "Prince's Team"—slouched into Team Seventeen's camp with the aura of a man who'd lost everything. His eyes were full of questions.
Why?
He'd always gotten along with Nawaki.
They'd shared meals. He'd even been invited to Tsunade's estate…
Everything had been decided. Why the sudden change?
Minamoto Ren didn't gloat. He gave Mizunomaru a simple nod in greeting, then turned and left for his new assignment with Team Ten.
In his mind, Mizunomaru was already half-dead. Not worth another word.
In fact, Ren even pitied him a little.
People never understood: even the smallest whim of the powerful—one petty personnel change—could determine life or death for countless shinobi.
That's why you had to climb.
Climb high.
Climb fast.
Climb until your position on the web was unshakable.
---
He composed himself before entering the Team Ten tent.
Nawaki was already having breakfast. Across from him sat Hyūga Haining, a main-branch heir of the Hyūga clan and one of Nawaki's closer friends.
And then there was the third figure. Back turned, silent.
Even without seeing his face, Minamoto Ren felt a pressure that made the air heavier.
"Orochimaru… So Tsunade really did assign Orochimaru to protect Nawaki," he realized, heart pounding.
It wasn't unexpected—but knowing was different from feeling. The man radiated lethal energy. This was a shinobi near the level of a Kage.
Someone whose whim could kill him in a heartbeat.
"Sit. Get your own utensils," Orochimaru said without even turning around. Ren could only see the faint bulge of his cheek as he chewed, utterly indifferent.
But that casual dismissal was a relief.
Ren knew that everything—his little ploys, his reassignments—was likely transparent to both Tsunade and Orochimaru. But that was fine.
It was a noble conspiracy.
Like a child throwing a tantrum over a toy.
Adults would naturally give in—and then make sure the toy didn't break.
Minamoto Ren was Nawaki's toy.
At least… that's how he saw it.
"Morning, Lord Nawaki," he said with an easy smile.
A toy should know its place.
"Huh? It's you? What are you doing here?" Nawaki blinked, then perked up immediately, all trace of his early-morning dullness gone.
"Ah, I don't know either," Ren replied with a mock sigh. "Got the transfer this morning. Can't believe I ended up on your team. I was worried I wouldn't fit in—but now? This is great."
He knew.
They both knew.
But like all kids, Nawaki was quick to brush it aside. Soon they were chatting up a storm—about the Will of Fire, about becoming Hokage, about how much they both hated that smug Uchiha face…
Childish topics, all of them—but so very human.
Even Hyūga Haining eventually joined in.
Orochimaru didn't so much as lift an eyelid. He was just Tsunade's insurance policy. A bodyguard for the Senju heir. He didn't particularly care about these brats.
If it weren't for Tsunade's request—and their long history together—he never would've bothered.
After all, since when did Orochimaru lead genin squads?
He didn't even like kids.