Killing a Kage was in no way a small matter.
Killing a Kage should have been the kind of achievement that got one's name carved into history books. The sort of thing that made old shinobi nod with respect and young ones whisper your name in awe.
Hell, taking down Yagura, the fucking Fourth Mizukage, should have been a ticket to legendary status. A feat that made villages throw parades and carve a face into mountains.
Should.
Too bad the world didn't work like some idealistic fairy tale.
It was still a legendary feat. Way more impressive than surviving Hanzo of the Salamander for some. My name had irrevocably made it to the history book.
Yet…..
The reality was messier, bloodier, and infinitely more complicated than any heroic ballad would have you believe. Politics was a hydra—cut off one head, and three more sprouted in its place, each one uglier and more venomous than the last. And right now, I was staring down the throat of a particularly nasty political beast that could very well devour me whole.
See, killing a Kage wasn't just eliminating a threat—it was lighting a fuse on a powder keg that could blow up in everyone's faces. The moment word spread that the Red Claw of Konoha had put Yagura six feet under, every major village would start calculating. How much was my head worth? What kind of message would my death send? How many alliances could be forged or broken over my corpse?
The bounty hunters would come—that was a given. A Kage was a Kage, and my name would be worth more than most small countries' annual budgets.
Then would come the political pressure. Allied villages demanding my execution as a gesture of good faith. Enemy villages were using my actions as justification for whatever bullshit they'd been planning anyway. And the ugly part, even Konoha might decide I was too hot to handle.
Because here's the thing about the shinobi world that most people conveniently forgot—for all our power, for all our jutsu and our ability to level mountains, we were still beholden to the Daimyo.
The shinobi world thinks it runs on chakra and steel, but it actually runs on money and rice shipments. A Kage can shatter mountains, but if the daimyo sneezes, the whole village catches a cold.
Those pampered aristocrats sitting in their silk-lined towers held the purse strings, and they had a nasty habit of calling their buddies when one of their pet ninja villages got too big for their britches.
Cross one Daimyo, and suddenly you'd find yourself facing a coalition of every other major village, all united in their desire to make an example out of the uppity shinobi who thought they could act without consequences.
The Great Villages were individually stronger than any Daimyo's conventional forces, sure. But when push came to shove, when one village tried to break free from their patron's leash, the other Daimyo would band together faster than you could say "political alliance." Even enemy villages would temporarily set aside their differences to crush a rebellion that might give their own shinobi ideas about independence.
It was a delicate balance of power that kept the world spinning, and I'd just thrown a pretty fucking big wrench into the gears.
I'd broken a rule no one dared put in writing. It wasn't just about Mist; it was about precedent. If assassinations of Kage became "fair game," the whole fragile balance between the villages would crack. Nobody wanted that. Which meant nobody wanted me alive.
But it wasn't all doom and gloom. Not completely, anyway. The Hokage seemed more willing to listen rather than send Anbu or, fate forbid, a Yamanaka.
Still, my options were quite limited as hell. Between my current physical condition and the political shitstorm brewing on the horizon, I couldn't exactly make any bold moves. Not when I had responsibilities now. Not when I was going to be a father.
Every decision I made from here on out wouldn't just affect me—it would ripple out to touch my women and my children. That changed everything, made every risk calculation more complicated, every potential sacrifice more costly.
Those three years felt even heavier now.
Shiho ducked her head even lower, her shoulders hunched as she practically vibrated with embarrassment. The poor girl looked like she wanted to disappear into the floor, unable to even lift her eyes to meet our unexpected guests. It pissed me off more than I cared to admit—not at her, but at the situation. I'd wanted to spend more time reassuring her, whispering cheesy stuff until she started giggling like an idiot, and then fuck her until she couldn't remember her own name, let alone her insecurities.
A pity that.
The only silver lining—and I was really stretching the definition of 'silver lining' here—was that Kushina's panties had been destroyed along with the rest of my gear during the fight with Yagura. Not that losing that particular trophy was exactly cause for celebration. Even ruined, they'd been a precious memento.
Would Minato have even recognized them, anyway? What they are? Who they belong to?
"Shiho," I called. "Go home. Rest for the remainder of the day."
It was an order, and my little nerd recognized it.
She paused mid-step, her body going rigid for half a second before she nodded quickly. A proper bow to Minato, a respectful nod to Guy-sensei, and then she was gone, practically fleeing from the room. Cute as hell, even when she was mortified.
I turned my attention to the two men who'd so rudely interrupted what should have been a very pleasant afternoon, plastering my most charming smile across my face. Time to do damage control.
"My apologies, Hokage-sama," I said, inclining my head as much as my aching neck would allow. "And to you as well, Guy-sensei. Shiho's still adjusting to... recent developments. She's not used to such distinguished company." I paused, letting a rueful chuckle escape. "And I'm afraid I owe you both an apology for my inappropriate behavior. This isn't exactly the proper way to receive the Hokage, and I blame the painkillers the medical staff have been pumping into me. They've left my judgment somewhat... impaired."
That was a lie, but eh.
"NONSENSE!" Guy-sensei boomed, his voice rattling the remaining intact windows in the room. "The flame of PASSION burns brightest in the face of adversity! Your youthful spirit refuses to be dimmed even by grievous injury! Though perhaps next time, lock the door when entertaining guests of the feminine variety!"
I doubt any kind of lock would have kept you out. I wanted to say but kept for myself.
Minato stepped into the room proper, waving off my apology with that easy grace that made him such an effective leader. "Don't worry about it, Eishin. You're recovering from serious injuries—I'm not about to hold proper military protocol against you." His blue eyes crinkled at the corners. "How are you feeling? The medical reports were... extensive."
"I'm fine, Hokage-sama," I replied, straightening as much as my protesting ribs would allow. "Thank you for asking."
Guy-sensei flashed a blindingly white grin and threw up a thumbs-up. "EXCELLENT! The flames of youth burn bright within you still! And I am eagerly anticipating that promised bout between us once you've recovered!"
My smile twitched. Right. The "promised bout." Like all other promised bout, I didn't remember promising this one either. But that was Guy-sensei for you. I'd learned it was easier to deflect than deny outright, unless I wanted to spend the next hour explaining why I valued my skeletal structure in its current unbroken state.
"You know, Guy," I tried anyway, "I really hate hospitals. I'm not exactly looking forward to checking back in here so soon after getting discharged."
"NONSENSE!" Guy boomed, completely missing or ignoring my subtle hint. "A true warrior embraces every challenge! The hospital is merely a brief rest stop on the path to greater strength! We shall have a most YOUTHFUL clash!"
Don't shout. We are in a hospital, man….. But truthfully, I had fully given up on that front. Because subtle had never been Guy-sensei's strong suit.
Minato chuckled at our exchange, and I found myself noting that the sound was genuine—not one of those polite, diplomatic laughs he probably had to deploy a dozen times a day. It was a real moment of amusement, which made what I noticed next all the more interesting.
The man standing in my hospital room was a shadow clone.
That, per se, shouldn't be a cause for a pause.
Logically, I had expected it. The Hokage didn't have time to personally visit every injured shinobi, not even ones who'd apparently killed enemy Kage. Hell, even sending a clone was more attention than most would warrant. But logic was one thing—actually perceiving the difference was something else entirely.
And that was what made my head spin a little. Shadow clones were perfect copies, indistinguishable from the original in nearly every way. Yet somehow, I could tell this wasn't the real Minato standing before me.
It was hard, hard to explain, it wasn't merely visually, it was... hard to explain, but this one was a clone.
It had to be residual effects from the Nature Chakra, I concluded. The Owl Sage Mode had enhanced my perception in ways I was still discovering. Maybe I could sense the subtle difference in chakra signature, or perhaps it was something even more esoteric—some animal instinct that could detect the artificial nature of the construct.
It was probably just my mind not in place, but I refused to ignore it.
Perceiving Nature Chakra was the first step, and the red panda cut that training short, even if my progress had been noticeably positive.
If I focused on it more... I filed that information away for later analysis.
"I would have preferred to let you rest and recover fully before requesting your report," Minato said, his tone carrying that measured quality that marked him as a leader who'd learned to balance compassion with necessity. "But given the magnitude of what occurred, we can't afford to wait for your complete recovery."
I nodded, understanding perfectly. Though I couldn't help but mentally berate him for showing up empty-handed. Not even flowers or fruit—though I supposed I should be grateful they hadn't brought along some T&I specialist to ensure my story was accurate.
For Guy-sensei, the lack of gifts made perfect sense. The man had put me in the hospital so many times during training that we'd developed an unspoken pact—no get-well presents for hospital visits. It kept things simple and avoided the awkwardness of him delivering flowers to someone he'd personally beaten into unconsciousness and spared his wallet.
"I understand," I said, settling back against my pillows. "Where would you like me to start?"
"From the beginning," Minato replied. "The escort mission to the Land of Waves."
I launched into my report, detailing the journey, the investigation into the bandits, and our discoveries about the involvement of Land of Fire nobles in the region's troubles. Minato didn't seem particularly shocked or surprised by that revelation—probably not the first time politics had created humanitarian disasters. Guy-sensei made a disgusted noise that somehow managed to convey his opinion of corrupt nobility without actually cursing them out.
But I could tell they weren't really interested in the mission parameters. They wanted to know about Yagura and how he'd ended up dead.
Naruto and Sai had probably already filed their reports, but they'd only witnessed the aftermath of my battle with the Mizukage. They hadn't seen the man himself, only what remained of him. And while Minato had undoubtedly sent investigation teams to the site, piecing together what had happened from a destroyed battlefield.
So I told them about the Anbu platoon I'd initially mistaken for hunter-nin. About using my experimental Frozen Domain technique to neutralize them while Naruto, Sai, Zabuza, and Haku made their escape.
I waited for the obvious questions—why let enemy ninja flee, what was my relationship with the Demon of the Mist—but they never came. Both men listened without interruption, letting me tell the story at my own pace.
Interruptions would only fragment the narrative and potentially cause me to leave out important details. And that information could be gleaned from either Naruto or Sai. So I kept on.
For some odd reason, I found myself tempted to withhold the cost of my senjutsu. Three years of my lifespan for seven minutes of enhanced power—it seemed like an oddly personal detail to share. But I forced myself to be completely truthful. The last thing I needed was for them to get suspicious and decide I warranted a visit to the psychology department for some involuntary mind-fucking.
When I finished, silence settled over the room for several minutes. Then Guy-sensei's laughter boomed out.
"AS EXPECTED FROM MY TRAINING COMPANION!" he declared, his voice filled with pride. "Seven minutes was all it took to defeat both a jinchūriki and the strongest shinobi in the Mist! MOST YOUTHFUL!"
I couldn't help but smile at his enthusiasm. When he put it like that, seven minutes did sound pretty impressive. Almost like a boast.
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PS. You can read up to 8 chapters ahead at patreon.com/vizem (PS. Best girl Ino, as well as another blonde with whiskers, made their steamy appearance there)