The scroll lay on Hiruzen Sarutobi's desk like a venomous serpent, its elegant script detailing accusations that felt like physical blows. The warm, pipe-scented air of the Hokage's office had turned thick and cold, the sunlight streaming through the tall windows suddenly harsh and accusing.
Hiruzen hadn't moved since the ANBU weasel-mask vanished. His knuckles were white where they gripped the edge of the polished oak desk, the grain biting into his skin.
Without taking his eyes off the offending parchment, Hiruzen spoke, his voice a low, dangerous rasp that scraped against the silence.
"Call them. All of them. Now."
"Fwoomp!"
Another, barely audible, displacement of air signalled the ANBU's immediate compliance. The silence that followed was profound, broken only by the frantic ticking of a clock on the mantle and the frantic drumming of Hiruzen's own pulse in his ears. He could smell the faint, acrid tang of his own anxiety beneath the tobacco and aged paper.
"Tap. Tap. Tap."
The measured, rhythmic flutters of sandals preceded the door opening. Danzo entered first, his eyes sweeping the room with habitual suspicion before locking onto Hiruzen's rigid posture and the scroll before him. Danzo opened his mouth, perhaps to offer a sardonic greeting or demand information, but the look Hiruzen finally tore from the scroll and fixed upon him was volcanic.
It wasn't anger directed at Danzo, but a consuming, incandescent rage that silenced even the old warhawk before a syllable could escape. Danzo froze mid-step, his knuckles tightening. He simply moved to stand near the window, his posture radiating alert tension as his eyes narrowed to a slit.
Moments later, the other four elders arrived together, their entrance less abrupt but charged with immediate awareness of the room's oppressive atmosphere.
Koharu and Homura, the traditional advisors, exchanged a worried glance. Behind them came the village's two senior elders. None spoke. They fanned out silently, taking positions around the room. The air crackled with unspoken questions, the weight of Hiruzen's fury a tangible pressure.
"Fwoosh!"
The final arrival was marked by a soft and subtle displacement of air. It was not an Anbu shinobi but Minato who appeared just inside the door, his expression one of focused readiness, the customary slight smile absent. His bright blue eyes scanned the assembled elders, then settled on Hiruzen. He bowed slightly.
"Hokage-sama. You summoned us?"
His voice was calm, but a flicker of unease crossed his features as he registered the collective tension, the unnatural stillness, the way Hiruzen's gaze burned into him.
Hiruzen didn't return the bow. He didn't offer pleasantries. His voice, when it came, was flat, cold, and carried the finality of a tombstone slamming shut.
"Your plan, it failed."
Silence. Utter, deafening silence.
Minato blinked, genuine shock replacing the unease. His posture straightened infinitesimally. "Failed, Hokage-sama? I… I don't understand."
He glanced at the elders, seeking clarification, finding only grim masks or narrowed eyes. "The mission parameters were met with precision. Every detail accounted for. I was… meticulous."
The last word held a hint of defensive pride, quickly masked by confusion.
One of the senior elders broke the silence, his voice a dry rasp. "Which plan, Hiruzen? And how did it fail? Minato's reputation suggests failure is… uncommon."
His eyes bored into Minato, analytical, probing.
Hiruzen finally picked up the Suna scroll, holding it aloft as if it were contaminated.
"This," he spat the word, "arrived moments ago. From the Third Kazekage. It details the destruction of Suna's camp. Destroyed, according to a dying Suna jonin's report delivered by hawk, by Earth Release techniques on a massive scale. Techniques explicitly framed to mimic Iwagakure's signature style."
Hiruzen's gaze locked back onto Minato. "The report also names the perpetrator. It claims the attack was witnessed as part of a Konoha deception – specifically naming you, Minato, as the architect. It states you destroyed Suna's camp with Earth Release to frame Iwa, and Iwa's camp with Earth Release to frame Suna."
Minato's face paled visibly. The calm professionalism shattered, replaced by dawning horror.
"That… that's impossible," he breathed, "There were no witnesses… I eliminated both units completely before they could report! I am certain. I sensed no others."
He ran a hand through his bright hair, "How could Suna connect it to me? Unless…" His eyes widened with a terrible realisation. "Unless one of them did get a message out? Or… or someone else was watching? Someone I didn't sense?"
The thought was anathema to the man known for his unparalleled sensory abilities and speed.
Homura adjusted his glasses, peering at Minato. " Are you sure you eliminated both units and confirmed that there were no survivors? No witnesses beyond those intended?"
"Yes, Elder Homura," Minato insisted, "The Suna camp was annihilated; no survivors possible, same for the Iwa unit. I sensed no other chakra signatures within range. I transported Suna bodies to the Iwa site and vice versa, created the elemental battlefield aftermath… I left nothing to chance."
The memory of the grisly work, the cold necessity of it, flickered behind his eyes. He had compartmentalised it as duty. Now, it felt like a fatal error.
"Yet, here we are," Danzo stated flatly from his position by the window.
"The Kazekage accuses us. Openly."
He practically sneered the word.
"So what now?" Koharu asked, her voice tight with worry.
"If Suna knows, then Iwa definitely knows… Our attempt to push them into war with each other has backfired spectacularly. Instead, we will soon stand accused by both."
Danzo turned slowly, "So?" The single syllable was dismissive, cold.
"So Iwa knows. So Suna knows. What changes?"
He swept his gaze around the room. "We were already at war with Sunagakure. And Iwa?"
He gave a short, harsh bark that wasn't a laugh. "We have known for some time that conflict with them was inevitable since they were playing both sides. This simply moves the timetable forward. We face them now, instead of later. The element of surprise for their planned offensive is lost, but so is the illusion of neutrality for us. We are revealed. So be it."
He took a step towards the centre of the room, "We mobilise. Fully. Immediately. Bolster every border garrison. Recall all available chunin and jonin from non-essential duties. Fortify the defences around Konoha. Flood the intelligence networks with agents – we need eyes everywhere, especially towards Iwa. Let Onoki rage. Let the Kazekage fume. We fight the war we knew was coming, but we fight it on our terms, prepared."
Hiruzen listened, the initial, cold fury slowly being overlaid by the grim pragmatism of survival. Danzo's words, though ruthless, resonated with the harsh reality. Their gambit had failed catastrophically. Retreating into denial or attempting conciliation now would be fatal weakness.
He closed his eyes for a brief moment, the weight of the impending catastrophe settling onto his shoulders like a physical yoke. When he opened them, the fury was banked, replaced by the steely resolve of the Professor, the wartime Hokage.
"Danzo speaks harsh truths," Hiruzen conceded, " but the deception is already uncovered. We shift to open defence and preparation for multi-front engagement."
He pointed a finger at Homura and Koharu. "Issue the mobilisation orders. Recall lists, resource allocation, border reinforcement protocols." The two elders nodded grimly, already turning towards the door, minds shifting to logistics.
He looked at the senior elders. "Triple the intelligence allocation. I want our spies activated along the Iwa border." Both elders gave sharp, silent nods, their faces set in lines of grim determination.
Finally, Hiruzen turned his full attention back to Minato. "Be alert. Be ready. New orders will come, swiftly and likely involving rapid deployment."
Minato met Hiruzen's gaze squarely, the blue eyes burning with unwavering loyalty and the chilling acceptance of his role. "Understood, Hokage-sama."
Hiruzen gave a single, curt nod, about to dismiss them, to let the grim machinery of war grind into motion. But before the words could leave his lips, the air in the office shifted.
"Fwoomp."
Another ANBU shinobi materialised, this one masked like a hound, kneeling directly before Hiruzen's desk.
The suddenness, the silent urgency, cut through the tense atmosphere like a knife. The agent held out a single scroll.
This scroll was different. The paper was thick, creamy, almost luminous, of the highest quality. The seal that held it closed was not wax, but pure gold leaf, embossed not with a village symbol, but with the intricate, regal crest of the Land of Fire.
A direct communication, bypassing all channels, delivered by ANBU with such immediacy… it could only mean one thing: the political fallout had already reached the highest level.
Hiruzen's hand, which had been resting on the scroll, slowly lifted. He took the new scroll from the ANBU hound.
"Who," He asked, "is it from?"
The ANBU hound didn't raise its head.
"The Fire Daimyo, Hokage-sama."