Hiruzen finished the thought, "They have earned every scorching second of it."
The words, spoken with cold, unequivocal finality by the Hokage himself, extinguished the last embers of opportunistic glee in the elders. Homura slumped back in his chair as if physically struck, his earlier enthusiasm replaced by a sickened, dawning comprehension of Iwa's profound ploy.
Koharu stared straight ahead, her face pale, the knuckles of her hand gripping the fan bone-white. The moral high ground they had briefly, naively contemplated vanished, replaced by the grim and muddy reality of total war.
Danzo nodded once, "The pertinent question now," he stated, his voice regaining its calculating, metallic edge, "is not misplaced compassion for vipers, but how we maximize the strategic yield of this... unexpected conflagration. How do we ensure this...," he paused, the word heavy with implication, "remains both effective... and securely within Konoha's grasp?"
The discussion that followed was colder, harder, and stripped of illusions. Strategies were proposed and dissected with clinical precision: leaking carefully crafted intelligence fragments to fan the flames of paranoia between Suna and Iwa; covertly sabotaging any back-channel diplomatic efforts; increasing pressure on Kiri through discreet support to keep Kumo entangled; monitoring Kumo's reaction to the Iwa-Suna conflict for potential exploitation.
Danzo advocated for aggressive, deniable operations to further destabilize the region. Homura and Koharu, chastened and grim, focused on defensive consolidation, resource stockpiling, and internal security, their earlier hawkishness tempered by the ugly revelation of Iwa's duplicity. Hiruzen presided over, weighing options and issuing directives.
Finally, the council concluded. Most of the scrolls were re-rolled with finality, and maps were folded with crisp efficiency. Homura and Koharu rose, their movements stiff, offering curt, almost funereal bows before departing silently into the rain-lashed corridor. Danzo lingered for a moment, a shadow refusing to dissipate. He turned his single, penetrating eye fully on Hiruzen.
"The Uzumaki," Danzo stated, the title devoid of any familial warmth, purely functional. "His power... and his capacity for unforeseen consequences... are escalating variables. Variables that demand... constant and meticulous assessment."
He turned without waiting for acknowledgement, his silhouette seeming to merge with the deepening shadows of the doorway before vanishing completely, swallowed by the gloom.
"Click. Thud."
The heavy door closed, then latched with finality. Hiruzen Sarutobi was alone. The only sounds were the drip of the rain against the glass and the soft and the persistent hiss of the oil lamp's flame.
The maps and scrolls lay before him, but Hiruzen's gaze wasn't fixed on the borders of Earth or Wind, nor the troop markers or supply routes.
He leaned back in his high-backed chair, the aged leather groaning softly in protest. He steepled his fingers once more, resting his chin upon them, his eyes distant, seeing not the rain-streaked window, but the face of a young man – not the solemn child he remembered, nor the promising young genin, but the shinobi who had become a one-man earthquake. Renjiro Uzumaki.
The image solidified: infiltrating territories guarded by elite shinobi, identifying critical targets buried in layers of secrecy, facing Jinchurikis and Kumo's deadliest enforcers, summoning entities capable of momentarily stalemating Tailed Beasts, and executing demolitions that crippled hidden networks.
'Unforeseen.'
That was the chilling core of it. Renjiro's orders had been precise: sabotage, disruption, attrition. What Renjiro had achieved was strategic chaos on a scale Hiruzen hadn't actively planned for, and hadn't truly believed possible from a single operative.
The sheer, staggering scope of the ripple effect – turning two Great Ninja Villages against each other based on actions Konoha could (and would) categorically deny – was almost beyond comprehension. It was power wielded not just on the battlefield, but on the chessboard of nations.
Of course, a part of Hiruzen suspected that there was another power at play here. But with Konoha, or Kiri, being the biggest beneficiaries of this, his suspicions lulled. So the Hokage kept buying into the fact that this might be Renjiro's doing.
'Just how strong is he?' The question burned in Hiruzen's mind, brighter than the lamp's flame. He had read the after-action reports from the No Man's Territory – the summon, the holding action against Killer B. He knew the whispers from the border skirmishes – fire and chains manipulated like primordial forces, reflexes surpassing Sharingan precognition, endurance bordering on the superhuman. But this... this was different.
This wasn't raw power displayed in combat; it was power applied with terrifying effectiveness across the spectrum of shinobi arts: infiltration, intelligence gathering, psychological warfare, large-scale demolition, and escape.
To infiltrate Suna's territory, isolate and manipulate Onoki's daughter without triggering immediate alarms, obliterate a fortified Iwa logistics hub designed to withstand assault, and vanish, leaving behind a framing so convincing it threatened war... the tactical brilliance, the audacity, the sheer capability required... it hinted at depths Hiruzen was only beginning to sound, and the depths felt abyssal.
Was it controlled, calculated genius? Or was it terrifying, elemental power unleashed with consequences even the caster couldn't fully predict? Danzo saw a weapon – sharp, dangerous, needing careful handling and constant monitoring. Homura and Koharu, moments before the revelation of Iwa's betrayal, had seen only the glorious opportunity. But Hiruzen saw the shadow stretching long behind the brilliant, destructive light.
Renjiro was a force multiplier unlike any Konoha had possessed since the era of Hashirama and Madara.
He was accomplishing missions nearly deemed suicidal, reshaping the very contours of the Third Great Shinobi War with startling speed. But at what ultimate cost? And to what final end? Did Renjiro understand the weight of the chaos he sowed? Did he care beyond the mission parameters?
The rain intensified, hammering against the glass with renewed fury, like an army demanding entry. Hiruzen Sarutobi, the Professor, sat alone in the dim, storm-bound office, the burdens of leadership and the spectre of a war he was now only partially controlling pressing down on his shoulders.
Amidst the intricate calculations for Konoha's survival, one question burned with an unsettling, primal intensity, eclipsing even the thunder outside: 'Just how strong is Renjiro Uzumaki... and can the village that unleashed him hope to remain the master of the storm?'
What Hiruzen, Danzo, Shiba, or even Daichi knew was that at that very moment, was that someone had returned to the village.
Far from the First and Second Divisions entrenched in the border conflicts of the Third Great War, far beyond the watchful eyes of ANBU patrols, Renjiro had slipped silently back into the village.
After tending to his summon, Tenjin, in the sky-bound serenity of the Floating Islands, he had come home—to a place stripped of voices.
The Uchiha compound lay quiet. Yet one house still bore light. Inside, Renjiro moved with quiet purpose. He had not come to be seen.