The Third Hokage listened without interrupting.
Across from him, Nara Shikaku continued in a steady voice. "Our intelligence confirms it. Most of Gatō's hired ninja were once Mist deserters. That supports the theory. The hand behind him is Kirigakure."
Hiruzen nodded once. "If that's the case, what do they gain from Wave Country?"
Shikaku allowed himself a faint smile. "You already know the answer, Lord Hokage."
"I want to hear it anyway."
"Gatō is disposable," Shikaku said. "A tool for fast extraction. He squeezes Wave Country dry, funnels the profits back to the Mist, and when his usefulness ends, he's removed."
Hiruzen's pipe clicked softly against the ashtray.
"At that point," Shikaku continued, "the Mist eliminates him under the pretext of harboring their missing-nin. They reclaim manpower, seize his wealth, and arrive as liberators to a country that's been bled white."
Wave Country's gratitude would follow. So would dependency.
"And once trade routes reopen," Shikaku added, "the Mist controls the gateway."
Silence settled between them.
"Well reasoned," Hiruzen said at last. His expression hardened. "Regardless of who stands behind Gatō, we can't allow Wave Country to fall completely into another village's hands. Nor can we ignore what's happening on our doorstep."
Shikaku inclined his head. "Understood."
"You may go," Hiruzen said. "I'll handle the rest."
After Shikaku left, Hiruzen sat alone with the file he'd been given earlier. He read it once more, then slid it into a drawer.
A short hand sign.
An ANBU shinobi appeared soundlessly.
"Summon Hatake Kakashi," Hiruzen said. "Tonight. Eight."
"Yes, Lord Hokage."
The Uchiha district was quiet.
Deep within it, a cavernous training hall lay lit by cold lamps. Once a warehouse, it had been stripped bare and rebuilt into something far less forgiving.
Hundreds of narrow pillars rose from the floor, each barely wide enough for a single foot. Above them, black metal spheres hung suspended by thin steel lines, swaying almost imperceptibly.
Uchiha Sasuke stood among them.
His eyes were covered by a strip of dark cloth.
The first wire snapped.
The hall erupted.
Heavy spheres dropped and swung in violent arcs, crashing into one another with thunderous force. Sparks burst. Air screamed. The pillars allowed no room for error.
Sasuke moved.
He listened, not to the sound itself, but to the space between impacts. A shift of weight. A turn of the shoulder. A step taken before danger arrived.
When avoidance failed, he met the blow head-on. Forearm. Back. Leg. He chose the contact points deliberately.
Pain registered. He ignored it.
Minutes passed. Then longer.
Gradually, the momentum slowed. The swinging arcs widened, weakened, and finally stilled.
Sasuke stepped down from the pillars and removed the blindfold. A few bruises darkened his skin. Nothing serious.
He applied ointment in silence and sat.
Green Aoi.
The fight replayed itself without emotion. Distance. Timing. The weight of the blade.
Strong for a missing-nin. Not enough.
The sword had amplified him, but it hadn't changed the outcome. Against a prepared opponent, borrowed power only delayed the inevitable.
Sasuke opened his eyes.
The Rain had tested the edges. The Mist had watched from afar.
And this was only the beginning.