Hokage's Office
Golden sunlight streamed through the windows, casting pillars of light across the room. Swirls of smoke danced lazily within the beams, thickening the air.
Sarutobi Hiruzen leaned back in his chair, a brown pipe clenched between his teeth, his eyes narrowed to slits as he sorted through a stack of documents. He pulled out three special files and laid them neatly on the desk, pushing the rest into a haphazard pile to the side.
Arranging the three files in front of him, his gaze lingered on the names—two boys and one girl, each extraordinary in their own right.
Senju and Uzumaki… A lone Uchiha… A Hyūga with the Kaguya's ferocity… The Nine-Tails and Three-Tails' fusion…
Familiar yet alien concepts intertwined in his mind. These three, who would never have coexisted in the Warring States era or even the current shinobi village system, were now being placed in the same squad—teammates bound to undertake missions together.
How strange fate could be.
The classic two-boys-one-girl setup, yet somehow encompassing the five great bloodline clans that once dominated the Warring States period. Hiruzen took a long drag from his pipe, feeling a deep sense of satisfaction smooth the wrinkles on his face.
Knock, knock, knock!
A sharp rap at the door interrupted his thoughts. In walked Kakashi, clad in his standard green flak jacket, his face half-hidden behind his mask. Five years had done little to change his languid demeanor, but the White Fang's short sword strapped to his back and the noticeably steadier aura around him reminded Hiruzen of the elite ANBU captain he once was.
Ah, Sakumo…
"Lord Hokage, you summoned me?"
Kakashi seemed to catch the nostalgic glint in Hiruzen's eyes. He adjusted the sword on his back, his usual cold gaze flickering briefly.
This was why he avoided using that blade—it always dredged up memories he'd rather forget.
"Oh? You're willing to wield it now?"
Hiruzen's eyes softened with approval. Despite Kakashi's years of melancholy, the Hokage had never given up on him. Seeing even the slightest hint of recovery lifted his spirits.
"It's just a sword," Kakashi deflected, clearly unwilling to dwell on the subject. "What's the mission?"
Hiruzen, wise to the art of avoiding open wounds, didn't press further. Instead, he slid the three files across the desk, pipe still clamped between his teeth.
"No mission. I just want you to take on three students."
Kakashi's visible eye scanned the files. He ignored the detailed reports and grades, focusing only on the three familiar faces staring back at him.
Obito's clansman… Sensei's son… His best friend's adopted daughter.
Every one of them was tied to his past.
He plucked out the middle file—the girl who stood out like a sore thumb—and slid it back toward Hiruzen. Picking up the other two, he said flatly:
"I can handle these two. That one… you'll have to teach yourself."
Hiruzen chuckled, stroking his beard before shaking his head in exaggerated dismay.
"Even I can't teach her anymore."
Silence settled over the room, the swirling smoke thickening the tension.
"Why not assign her to ANBU?" Kakashi asked.
"She claims all the killing in ANBU 'ruins her mood.' Prefers a peaceful life."
"You really let her do whatever she wants, huh?" Kakashi muttered. If even the Hokage couldn't instruct her, the only ones left in Konoha qualified to teach her were him and Might Guy.
Resigned, he pulled the discarded file back, staring at the name nestled between the other two—Hikari. On paper, she seemed like just another ordinary genin.
"It's not indulgence," Hiruzen said gravely, leaning back in his chair, fingers drumming against the desk. "She's… changed."
"Yeah." Kakashi agreed.
Having lived under the same roof as her for five years, he understood better than anyone. Her personality, appearance, demeanor—even her hobbies—were completely different. Sometimes, it was hard to believe she was the same person.
"Change isn't bad. At least she's easier to get along with now."
"What I fear is—" Hiruzen hesitated.
In five years, he'd never seen her fight. Never witnessed her train. The monstrous taijutsu that once crushed enemies in an instant—gone. At the Academy, she only played around with basic elemental jutsu.
Though her mastery of the five elements was flawless, rivaling even his own, it worried him.
That bone technique—the one that reduced everything to ash—was terrifying. He couldn't shake the suspicion that her transformation was tied to a bloodline disease.
Was she avoiding taijutsu because her body was failing?
He'd asked her directly, but her answers were always the same:
"Everything's fine."
"It's going smoothly."
"Don't worry about it."
Yet the unease lingered, and with it came more leniency, more favoritism.
"Fear what?" Kakashi waited, neck craned, but Hiruzen never finished. The silence reminded him of a term Hikari had once joked about—"riddle-speakers."
"Never mind." Hiruzen changed the subject abruptly. "Focus on Naruto and Sasuke. They're Konoha's future."
"These three won't be easy to teach." Kakashi sighed, already feeling the headache coming.
Naruto and Sasuke, driven by rivalry and trained by him and Guy, had already reached special jōnin level.
As for Hikari? For the past two years, a faint red barrier had shrouded her. His Sharingan couldn't even gauge her chakra anymore. Even if she hadn't improved in five years, she was at least elite jōnin level.
But that was impossible.
If even the Hokage couldn't instruct her, her strength had likely surpassed imagination. Considering their actual skill levels—and his own survival—he decided some traditions needed… adjustments.
"If there's nothing else, I'll prepare for the assignment."
"Go ahead." Hiruzen nodded, then added as an afterthought: "Oh, and Hikari hates waiting. Don't be late for team assignments."
"Understood."
Kakashi's response was solemn. He knew this wasn't just concern for a student—it was a warning for his own safety.
---
Root Headquarters – Sublevel 4
A winding staircase descended into darkness, flickering torchlight casting twisted shadows on curse-sealed walls.
Thud… Thud…
The dull impact of a cane echoed with each step. A shadowy figure moved downward until reaching the bottom, then turned into an adjacent corridor.
The torches here burned brighter, illuminating the man—Shimura Danzō, leader of Root.
His right arm hung in a sling, his left gripping a cane. A single, narrowed eye glinted coldly.
He paused before a vermilion door at the corridor's end, then strode forward.
"Halt, Lord Danzō!"
An arm barred his path. Danzō's eye twitched, his gaze icy as it settled on the fox-masked Root member guarding the door.
"Lady Hikari is bathing. She gave strict orders—no disturbances."
The Root ninja, Kitsune, stood firm despite the killing intent pressing down on him.
"Do you know who you're speaking to?" Danzō's voice was a blade of frost.
"My apologies, sir!" Kitsune bowed slightly—but didn't move.
Root… has truly changed.
Rage simmered in Danzō's chest. Five years ago, after Hikari's "surgery," he'd successfully transplanted the arm lined with Sharingan.
Not only had he gained the Wood Release he craved, but the Hashirama cells accelerated the replenishment of his Mangekyō's power. Even the strain from using Kotoamatsukami lessened.
It was a dream come true—until he realized the cost.
The ten Sharingan and Hashirama cells balanced each other, minimizing backlash—but maintaining that equilibrium was near impossible in battle.
His combat style had to be completely overhauled.
With Yūhi Ryūma managing Root's affairs and Hikari handling external threats, Danzō had focused on adapting.
At first, everything flourished.
Then, one day, he saw children laughing in Root's training grounds.
Laughing.
These were supposed to be emotionless tools, stripped of individuality. Yet there they were—unshackled, joyful.
He'd punished the trainers. Executed the children.
Root returned to its silent, obedient state.
But something felt wrong.
Root members watched him differently—avoiding him, yet always watching.
Departments that should've been bustling fell silent the moment he entered.
He'd confided in Ryūma, ordered investigations, but was told it was just side effects of the Sharingan's strain.
Now, standing before the sealed door, he finally had proof.
Kitsune remained unmoved, even as Danzō's chakra flared dangerously.
"Last warning. Move."
The air crackled with tension.
Then—
"Let him in."
A voice, soft yet commanding, drifted from behind the door.
Kitsune immediately stepped aside.
Danzō's expression darkened further, but he shoved the door open and stepped into the abyss.
As the door closed behind him, Kitsune resumed his post. The torches flickered wildly.
From the shadows cast on the walls, two more figures emerged—Sharingan eyes glowing—forming a three-man guard around the entrance.
---
inside the Chamber
Danzō's breath caught.
Before him stretched an impossible sight.
A pool of liquid lightning, boiling and crackling, illuminated the chamber in an eerie blue-white glow. At its center, floating effortlessly, was a silver-haired girl.
Her hair fanned out across the surface like molten silk, tendrils of electricity dancing along each strand.
Her body, submerged in the searing plasma, was unharmed. The violent currents cradled her like gentle waves, as if she were merely asleep in the heart of a storm.
---