Inside the Hokage's office.
Golden light poured through the windows, casting several bright pillars across the room. Acrid smoke danced wildly inside those beams, thick enough to sting the throat.
Hiruzen Sarutobi sat with a brown pipe clamped at the corner of his mouth, eyes narrowed into a thin slit. He drew out three special rosters and laid them on the desk, then stacked the remaining papers into a neat pile at the side.
He spread the three rosters out one by one. Staring at the unusually striking trio, two boys and one girl, countless thoughts circled through his mind.
Senju and Uzumaki. A lone Uchiha. Taketori layered with Hyūga. Nine Tails. Three Tails fusion.
Familiar words, yet somehow alien, weaving together into something that should never have existed.
Whether in the chaotic Warring States era or the age of hidden villages dividing the Five Great Nations, these three should have been unable to coexist.
And yet, he had placed them into the same team, made them partners who would carry out missions together.
Fate truly was strange.
A classic two-boys-one-girl lineup, and it even managed to gather the five great bloodline clans that once dominated the Warring States period.
Hiruzen took a deep pull from his pipe. It felt like his obsessive need for symmetry had been cured on the spot. The wrinkles on his face seemed to smooth out, and visible delight and satisfaction spread across him.
Knock, knock, knock.
A sudden rap came from outside. Kakashi Hatake stepped into the office quickly, wearing the standard green flak vest and a black ANBU-style mask over his face.
Five years hadn't changed him much. He still carried that lazy air.
But the White Light Chakra Sabre strapped behind him, and the noticeably steadier aura he gave off, instantly dragged the nostalgic Third Hokage back to the image of the former ANBU captain.
Sakumo…
"Third Hokage-sama, you wanted to see me?"
Kakashi seemed to read something in Hiruzen's gaze. He subtly adjusted the blade on his back, and a faint ripple passed through the usual coldness in his eyes.
That was exactly why he hated using this sword.
It always pulled him back into memories he didn't want to touch.
"Oh? You're willing to use that blade again?" Hiruzen asked, noticing the small movement. His eyes held unmistakable approval.
Kakashi had sunk into gloom after so many blows, but Hiruzen had never stopped placing hope in the once-brightest genius. Now that Kakashi seemed to be edging out of the shadows, Hiruzen's heart eased.
"There's nothing to be unwilling about. It's just a sword." Kakashi deliberately changed the subject. "What mission are you assigning me?"
Old as he was, Hiruzen was sharp enough not to peel open a wound just to look at it.
He pushed the three rosters across the desk toward Kakashi. With the pipe between his teeth, his voice came out muffled.
"No mission. I just want you to take on three students."
Kakashi lowered his gaze and skimmed the neatly arranged papers. He ignored the profiles and exam records, focusing only on the three familiar faces in the photos.
His heart jolted.
An Uchiha, a boy who was his teacher's son, and his best friend's adopted daughter.
All people he knew.
He picked the middle roster up, the one whose photo didn't match the other two's vibe at all, and slid it back across the desk toward Hiruzen. He only kept the rosters for Naruto and Sasuke.
Flatly, he said, "These two, I can teach. As for that one, you'll have to do it yourself."
Seeing Kakashi give up immediately, Hiruzen stroked his beard and chuckled. Then he smacked his lips and shook his head in a mock-bitter manner.
"Even I can't teach her anymore."
The words dropped, and the room fell silent. Thick smoke spiraled around the pillars of light, turning and turning without settling.
"Then why not put her in ANBU?" Kakashi asked.
"She said ANBU is all killing and blood, and it makes her irritable. She prefers a calm, peaceful life."
Kakashi clicked his tongue. "You really let her do whatever she wants."
A student even the Third Hokage couldn't guide. In all of Konoha, the only people qualified to "lead" her were probably just Kakashi and Guy, and that was only because they were familiar faces.
Kakashi dragged the roster back toward himself. Looking at the girl's name amid the other two, she really did appear, on paper, like an ordinary Konoha genin.
"It's not indulgence," Hiruzen said, his expression heavy as he leaned back. His fingers tapped softly against the desk. "She… seems to have truly changed."
"Yeah." Kakashi agreed without hesitation.
They had lived under the same roof these past five years. Kakashi understood her change better than anyone.
Her personality, her appearance, the way she handled matters, even her interests, were nothing like before. Sometimes he struggled to believe that the Konome of today and the Konome from five years ago were the same person.
"A change in temperament is a good thing," Kakashi said. "At least she's much easier to get along with now."
"What I'm afraid of is…" Hiruzen stopped mid-sentence.
For five years, he hadn't seen Konome fight. He hadn't seen her practice taijutsu even for half a day. The terrifying physical strength that once let her crush Kazama Ketsu with a single kick and trade blows with Yotsuki Takeshi seemed to have vanished.
At the Academy, even when she "played" with classmates, she used only the most basic Five Element ninjutsu.
Yes, her mastery of the five elements was astonishing, and the power of her techniques was already not inferior to his. Still, it made him uneasy.
Those bones that could turn everything into ash were too terrifying.
He vaguely suspected Konome's changes were directly tied to her bloodline sickness.
If she no longer used taijutsu, was it because her body could no longer endure?
That worry clung to him relentlessly. He had asked her more than once, face to face, and she always replied that everything was fine, that things were progressing smoothly, that he shouldn't worry.
Yet his heart never felt steady.
And the more uneasy he felt, the more protective and biased he became.
"Afraid of what?" Kakashi asked, waiting and waiting. He'd practically stretched his neck out, but Hiruzen still didn't finish.
Kakashi suddenly remembered a strange term he'd once heard from Konome.
A riddle-speaker.
"No… it's nothing," Hiruzen said at last, forcefully changing the subject. "Aside from Konome, you need to put more effort into Naruto and Sasuke. They're pillars of Konoha's future."
"These three won't be easy to teach," Kakashi said, already feeling the headache.
Naruto and Sasuke pushed each other competitively, and with Kakashi and Guy guiding them over the years, their growth had been fast. Both were roughly at the level of a special jōnin.
As for Konome, since two years ago she'd been wrapped in a faint red barrier. Kakashi's Sharingan could no longer see through her chakra. Even if she hadn't improved in five years, she would still be at least an elite jōnin.
But that was impossible.
If even the Third Hokage couldn't guide her, then her strength likely surpassed Kakashi's imagination.
Considering the team's true level, and his own personal safety, Kakashi decided he would need to adjust a few of his usual habits.
"If there's nothing else, I'll take my leave and prepare," he said.
"Go." Hiruzen nodded, then added as if he'd just remembered. "One more thing. Konome doesn't like waiting. When teams are assigned, don't be late."
"Yes, sir." Kakashi nodded solemnly.
He understood perfectly. This wasn't the Hokage worrying about his disciple.
It was the Hokage worrying about Kakashi staying alive.
Root, Third Base. Underground, Fourth Level.
A long, pitch-dark staircase spiraled down. Flickering yellow torchlight trembled on both sides, throwing warped shadows onto walls carved with sealing marks.
Thud. Thud.
A staff struck the steps with a dull rhythm. A dark figure descended level by level, reached the bottom, then turned into the corridor beyond.
The torches burned brighter in the passage, finally lighting the man's face.
A sling bag hung from his right shoulder. His left hand gripped a staff. His narrow, shadowed single eye gleamed with cold light.
Root's leader.
Danzō Shimura.
He lifted his head, staring at the vermilion door at the end of the corridor. Then he raised his staff and walked straight toward it.
"Wait, Danzō-sama!"
Just before he reached the door, an arm stretched out and blocked him. Danzō's narrow eye tightened as he turned to the ANBU in a fox mask stationed there.
"Lady Konome is bathing," the masked man said. "She ordered that no one is to disturb her."
The fox-masked ninja was clearly shaken under Danzō's killing gaze, but he still stood straight, arm held up, barring the way.
"Do you understand what you're doing?" Danzō's voice finally came out.
It was so cold it felt like an ice spike hitting the ground. The killing intent in his eye was almost tangible.
"Please forgive me, sir!" The fox-masked ninja lowered his head quickly, apologizing, but his body didn't move at all, as if he couldn't feel the bone-deep chill in those words.
Root really is broken.
Rage surged through Danzō. His left hand tightened abruptly, the wooden staff creaking under the pressure.
Five years ago, under Konome's precise surgery, he had successfully transplanted that Sharingan arm.
Not only did he obtain the long-dreamed Wood Release bloodline, he also discovered something astonishing.
The replenishment speed of Mangekyō ocular power had increased. Even the damage to his eyes from using dōjutsu was repaired under Hashirama's chakra.
It meant he would no longer need to fear ocular strain. The cooldown of Kotoamatsukami would also shorten, to the point he could treat it like an ordinary technique.
The synergy was so absurd it made him ecstatic.
But once he calmed down, he also realized the downside of wielding Wood Release and Sharingan this way.
Ten Sharingan and Hashirama cells balancing each other did indeed push the consumption and the erosion down to a minimum, but maintaining that balance was brutally difficult.
In normal conditions it was manageable. In the heat of battle, one slip could break the equilibrium, and Hashirama's cells would begin to invade his body. At that point, using Wood Release or dōjutsu became even harder.
Switching his dominant hand. Awkwardness with hand seals. The need to constantly split his attention in combat to maintain balance.
The transplant hadn't made him stronger.
It had made him weaker.
To adapt, he had been forced to remain in the base, slowly adjusting and reinventing his fighting style. The process was painful, long, and humiliating.
Thankfully, Aburame Ryōma handled Root's internal affairs with ruthless efficiency, keeping everything orderly. And the combat-focused Konome, known as Zuihi Konome, took charge of external operations, crushing every threat to Konoha.
Only then could Danzō adapt without being dragged into daily chaos.
Originally, everything had been stabilizing. His arm adaptation had become nearly perfect. Root and even Konoha seemed to be thriving.
Until one day, when he grew restless and decided to patrol the base.
And he discovered something had changed.
He saw children laughing.
Laughing, openly, on Root's training ground.
Those kids should have been locked in cages, stripped of individual will under Neko's conditioning, reduced into disposable tools.
Instead, they were laughing without restraint, as if they had never been trained at all.
That day, Danzō erupted. He punished everyone in the training department, then ordered the children executed.
After that, Root "returned" to normal. The training department never again showed such a scene.
Yet something felt wrong.
When he walked the halls, the way people looked at him had shifted. They seemed to avoid him, yet also seemed to watch him. No matter where he looked, he found eyes stealing glances.
Training. Medical. Equipment. Barrier division.
All of them.
Sometimes he clearly heard noisy argument and chatter within departments, but the moment he stepped inside, everyone was dead silent, heavy and lifeless, as if the sounds outside had been nothing but hallucination.
It was eerie. Wrong. Even the familiar became unfamiliar.
He told Aburame Ryōma and ordered an investigation. After a long time, Ryōma found nothing. Chihaya Tōru even soothed him, claiming it was a lingering aftereffect from controlling ten Sharingan at once, a drain on mental stamina that would pass in a few days.
Danzō had never fully believed it.
And today, he had finally found a thread.
He stared at the red-lacquered door. Seals covered it, blocking all probing from sensory techniques. The fox-masked guard still stood there, unmoving, like a statue of ice.
"I'll say it one last time. Move."
The last word came out through clenched teeth. Danzō's chakra pressure rolled out like a storm. The fox-masked ninja's mind wavered.
Yet some force buried deep in his subconscious made him grit his teeth and hold his ground.
Chakra stirred uneasily in both of them. The air tightened like a drawn blade, ready to explode into battle at any second.
"Let my teacher in."
A voice came from behind the vermilion door. It sounded like someone waking from deep sleep, elegant and soft, with a lazy calm woven through it.
"Yes!"
The fox-masked ninja saluted toward the door, then finally stepped aside.
Danzō's expression darkened further. Still, he did not erupt. He simply shoved the door open and strode into the secret chamber.
Once Danzō's figure was swallowed by the darkness inside, the fox-masked guard closed the door and resumed his silent watch.
Along the corridor walls, orange-red torchlight flickered as if cheering.
And from the shadow cast by the fox-masked guard on the wall, two black silhouettes with Sharingan eyes crawled out.
The three formed a triangular formation, guarding the vermilion door and everything beyond it.
Danzō knew none of this.
Because the moment he entered the chamber, the scene before him struck like a thunderclap.
His throat tightened. He swallowed again and again, tasting foam. A sharp scorched smell stabbed his nostrils.
Staring at the dazzling blue-white glow ahead, the pupil of his left eye shrank to a needle.
At the center of the sealed chamber was a pool built from piled blue gemstones.
Inside it, boiling, surging, blazing-white liquid lightning screamed and burst, illuminating the ceiling like a frozen hell. Heat waves rolled outward, carrying that scorched, burnt scent.
And in the heart of that thunder pool lay something impossible.
A silver-haired girl.
Her hair spread out in an enormous fan across the surface of the lightning, and thin serpents of electricity crawled and spiraled through the strands.
Her body was completely submerged, her shape indistinct beneath the "water."
The violent lightning held her up like gentle spring water, coils of electric light winding around her as she slept, as if cradled in a cradle, living in symbiosis with thunder.
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