Chapter 18 The Darkness of the Ninja World
"Root shinobi don't keep trash around. Take him back and punish him properly."
Makoto said nothing; his small body trembled only slightly, his face a perfect mask of feigned fear.
From the way these two moved, he understood at once: this "Root" was cold and merciless. They hadn't killed him because they still needed him as bait. That meant whatever "punishment" awaited would be far worse than death. Makoto kept up the act.
Even the Transformation Technique had limits. The skill of a transformation depends entirely on the user's mastery; a master of disguise could not be matched by a sloppy imitation. Pretending to be another person is risky—if the fake acted in a way the dead man never would, the ruse would collapse. Makoto could only hope the charade held long enough to gather intelligence. He needed to warn Shisui, and he needed to learn everything he could.
Fortunately, the patterned-mask operative didn't suspect the corpse-clone immediately. He led Makoto deeper into Root's territory — or what passed for Root's inner sanctum. The name "Danzō" ticked at the edge of Makoto's memory, a whispered rumor he'd heard before. The more he watched, the more certain he grew that this was no ordinary ANBU mission. Whoever sent these men had real power.
In a blink, they arrived at an enormous, ancient tree whose roots braided into the earth like iron cables. The patterned-masked shinobi skirted behind it and descended. Makoto followed, and the ground opened into a hidden staircase.
Root operates beneath the village, he thought, stunned. Konoha really hides such things.
The old man Hiruzen's words about the Will of Fire echoed bitterly in his head. A place supposed to embody that Will now sheltered an organization that thrived on secrecy and blood. If Hiruzen didn't know, he ought to—but logic argued he must. Root was an organized force, disciplined and large enough to influence the village's darkest decisions.
Dripping water echoed from the ceiling; the air smelled faintly of rusted iron and long-old blood. Somewhere in the distance, a muffled scream reverberated. Makoto's mouth hardened. He had killed before, and he knew he might have to again, but Root's methods made his skin crawl.
Their footsteps stopped. A man stood with his back to them. Makoto dropped another shadow clone into a crouch and the figure turned.
He was older — the same generation as Hiruzen — mottled with age spots. His right eye was swathed in white bandages; his right arm was concealed inside his robe. Up close, the man's presence felt like a coiled spring.
Is this Danzō? Makoto wondered. Why the bandages? An injury, or something worse hidden beneath?
"Where is Shisui Uchiha now?" the bandaged man asked the patterned mask. His voice was rough and controlled.
"He's a rare talent," the subordinate answered, lowering himself into a squat. "The gods are partial to the Uchiha; so many geniuses… but they aren't for us."
"Pity," the bandaged man — Danzō — muttered, a cold note in his voice. "But Konoha's interests come first. If he cannot be used, then he must be eliminated."
"We don't know Shisui's location. He's elusive—few can match him."
"Then at least we have this one. I hear Shisui has been seen near him lately." The subordinate's words were careful, practiced.
Danzō snorted in contempt. "Waste of time — but catching an Uchiha is still useful." He turned his head slightly, the bandaged eye unseen but intent. "Hizan, release him to the clan and remind them what happens to traitors."
Makoto stiffened as the name landed. No more words were needed. The voice, the manner, the terse orders — nothing left any doubt.
Danzō stood before him: the hidden hand, the root beneath the village. From his tone it was clear he knew Hiruzen well, yet he answered to no one but the shadow of Konoha's security itself.
Uchiha Makoto was disappointed again. Even though he already knew there was darkness within the ninja world and even inside the Hidden Leaf itself, he had still underestimated how deep it went.
"Uchiha's eyes can serve as replacements… heh. And to think someone once believed that a Uchiha could truly inherit the so-called Will of Fire. Foolish. That boy was nothing but a deceiver from childhood."
Makoto's heart jolted at those words. Substitutes? Eyes as replacements? Could it be that Danzō's bandaged right eye wasn't blind at all — but a Sharingan hidden beneath?
He finally understood the true nature of this man. Danzō Shimura feared and craved the Uchiha clan's power at the same time. On the surface he acted as though everything was "for the sake of Konoha," but in reality he sought to eliminate one of the strongest clans in the village. Even someone like Shisui, who wished to protect both the clan and the village, had no place in his vision.
So… in the original flow of history, was it Danzō who forced Shisui to his death? The thought ignited rage inside Makoto.
But Danzō had also sneered at the Will of Fire — and that alone made the two shadow clones chuckle together. The Will of Fire was never what Danzō or Root truly followed.
The patterned-mask subordinate standing nearby waited like a machine, not daring to speak. Makoto noticed it: Danzō's control over his men was absolute. Even when he openly opposed the Hokage's ideals, his subordinates did not flinch. Root was not Hiruzen's Anbu; it was Danzō's personal army.
After a pause, Danzō's voice carried on coldly.
"Establish contact with Orochimaru. Reports say he has aligned himself with that organization of rogue shinobi — Akatsuki."
Danzō's uncovered eye shifted toward the figure of Makoto's shadow clone in disguise. Even knowing it was only a clone, Makoto felt nervous under his scrutiny.
He guessed correctly: Danzō's strength had to be comparable to Hiruzen's. They were the same generation, trained side by side under the Second Hokage, and had likely reached a similar level of ability. That made Danzō an opponent on par with a Kage.
The room fell silent for a long moment.
"Mastiff, you will handle contact with Orochimaru."
"Yes," Makoto answered, mimicking the tone of the patterned-mask operative.
Danzō said nothing more. He simply turned and walked toward Makoto's other shadow clone lying on the floor. Though the clone kept its eyes closed, Makoto could feel the oppressive weight of Danzō's presence pressing down.
Did he see through it? Makoto's heart pounded. He thought about striking preemptively, but hesitated. His mission was already a success: he had confirmed that Danzō was the hidden hand moving against the Uchiha, that Shisui's death was tied to him, that Root's base was beneath Konoha, and that Danzō's bandaged right eye very likely concealed a stolen Sharingan.
"Who are you?"
Those three words froze Makoto's thoughts. He had been discovered.
In an instant, he drew a dagger, ready to throw it. But before he could act, a murderous intent like a physical weight pressed down on him.
"Wind Release: Vacuum Sphere!"
Compressed wind bullets tore through the shadow clone in an explosion.
Boom.
Watching from a safe distance, Makoto smirked. He wasted a jutsu on a clone. That's a win for me. Information gathered — mission complete. Now I just have to get it to Shisui.
The Ama-no-Murakumo blade shimmered into his hand, and the clone swung it toward Danzō.
But Danzō's bandaged left arm — hidden beneath his robes — shot out and caught the blade with unnatural force.
Seeing this, Makoto's clone smiled brightly, then dispersed itself on purpose.
Danzō's face twisted in irritation at being toyed with.
"Damn it… whoever you are, I'll uncover you. And when I do, you'll regret crossing Root."