Hiruzen Sarutobi, the esteemed Third Hokage, stared at the object placed on his desk as if it were a particularly venomous slug.
It was a book. The cover was a dramatic, sweeping depiction of two legendary figures locked in combat, their faces contorted in a symphony of angst and fury. The title, emblazoned in a font so sharp it could probably cut someone, read: "The Epic Struggle of Uchiha Izuna vs. Senju Tobirama. By Azula Uchiha."
A puff of smoke to his right signaled the dissipation of the Shadow Clone that had delivered this… literary curiosity. The clone's memories flooded into Hiruzen's mind: a quick stop at a bustling market stall, a cheerful, dark-haired girl enthusiastically recommending her "latest masterpiece," and the clone's own bewildered purchase.
Hiruzen's mouth twitched. It was a small, almost imperceptible spasm, the kind he usually reserved for council meetings where Danzo suggested something particularly unhinged. So much for a quiet afternoon of paperwork and nostalgic pipe-smoking, he thought, with an internal sigh that would have wilted a lesser man's flowers.
He leaned back in his chair, steepling his fingers in a pose of deep, statesmanlike contemplation. (It was a very good pose, one he'd practiced. It conveyed wisdom, burden, and a touch of weary authority. The villagers loved it.)
Azula. Now there was a puzzle wrapped in an enigma, wrapped in a Uchiha fan emblem. She was… nothing like the Uchiha. This was a fact he, in his infinite and unbiased wisdom, had to acknowledge. Where her clansmen often brooded like thunderstorms waiting to happen, Azula's manga protagonists were bafflingly sunny, all unyielding optimism and "power of friendship" nonsense. Her relationships with the other kids in the Academy had improved dramatically, not through aloof superiority, but by apparently organizing class-wide games of hide-and-seek that, according to reports, involved alarmingly complex tactical maneuvers.
She was strange. She was unconventional. She was, he dared to hope, perfect.
"Yes," he murmured to a conveniently placed portrait of the First Hokage. "She could be the bridge. A true bridge this time, Hashirama. Not like poor Kagami." (A wonderful shinobi, Kagami, truly. But a bridge? More of a pleasant, well-maintained footpath that everyone politely ignored in favor of scowling across the river at each other.)
Azula was the clan heir, recognized even by those fossilized Uchiha elders. She was a prodigy so blinding that even the Tobirama himself, had eyed her with the avaricious gleam of a collector spotting a rare jewel.
The path was clear! If this continued, the Uchiha could slowly, surely, integrate into the village fabric. He could almost hear the harmonious choir of unity.
But then the record scratched in his mind. Could it continue? His optimistic vision was rudely interrupted by the mental image of the Uchiha elders—men whose faces were permanently set in a default expression of having smelled something foul—"guiding" her. Could their particular brand of… clan-centric fervor… brainwash her sunny disposition?
A cold knot tightened in his stomach. He knew the extremes they were capable of. Tobirama-sensei had warned him, and his own investigations as Hokage had confirmed it. Things like "discreetly" sacrificing a few civilians who had gotten too close to clan members… just to trigger a Sharingan awakening.
(Author's Note: I feel this is something Uchiha extremists would definitely do! Hiruzen's own brain added, helpfully and with impeccable morality.)
"The Uchiha would never harm their kind," was their mantra. A technically true statement, if one's definition of "kind" was ruthlessly narrow and excluded roughly 99.9% of the village's population. It was monstrous. It was a stain on the soul of the village he loved. And it was, frustratingly, something he could do very little about directly without sparking the very conflict he sought to avoid.
He let out another sigh, this one audible and full of the profound weariness of a man who had to be pragmatic in the face of outright villainy. "Alas, I cannot simply demand she be my personal student," he lamented to a second portrait, this one of the Second Hokage. "That would be an overreach of Hokage authority, a violation of clan autonomy. We must be better than that, sensei. We must guide with a light touch." (The fact that the "light touch" seemed to involve doing nothing at all was a hypocrisy he comfortably filed away in a mental drawer labeled "For The Greater Good.")
His eyes fell back upon the manga. Well, while he couldn't storm the Uchiha compound and rescue her from ideological capture, he could certainly vet her historical fanfiction. He owed that much to his late sensei's memory.
He remembered asking Tobirama once, long ago, who his greatest rival had been. After a silence so deep you could drown in it, his sensei had gritted out two words: "Izuna Uchiha." The follow-up question of "Who was he?" had been met with a glare so icy it had flash-frozen the conversation on the spot. They'd later learned the sanitized version: Madara's brother, a powerful Uchiha, killed by Madara himself to steal his eyes and gain the Mangekyō. A tragic, brutal story.
"Alright, Azula-chan," Hiruzen said, slipping on a pair of reading glasses. "Let's see what you've done to my teacher's legacy. I'm sure it will be… educational."
He opened the book. The first line hit him like a gentle, yet profoundly confusing, feather.
[War. Children dying. And the cycle continues repeating. Will this war ever have an end?]
Hiruzen blinked. It was… profoundly un-Uchiha-like. It was the kind of sentiment he'd expect from a young Hashirama, or even from himself after a particularly long day. The hypocrisy alarm in his mind gave a faint ping. Wasn't this exactly the kind of village-centric, peace-loving mentality he wanted to foster?
But the attribution made his eyebrows climb nearly to his hairline.
—Madara Uchiha said.
Hiruzen snatched his pipe from the desk. This was going to require a lot more tobacco.
...
...
...
While, back in the Hokage's office, Hiruzen Sarutobi was deeply engrossed in a two-pronged mission: meticulously plotting his own unique strategy to 'save' the perplexing young prodigy, Azula, while reading the interesting book about his teacher, the subject of his concerns was engaging in a far more intriguing encounter.
Azula had finally orchestrated the one-on-one meeting she had been meticulously working toward for weeks: an audience with the legendary Mito Uzumaki.
Mito, having gracefully extricated herself from Tsunade's enthusiastic (and financially draining) tour of the Uchiha-owned entertainment store, had purchased a few historical texts to stave off boredom and chosen a leisurely route home.
She turned into a quiet, cobblestone alleyway that skirted the outer walls of the Senju compound. This was hallowed ground, a place where the ANBU's jurisdiction ended as decisively as if it had hit a wall.
The clans governed their own domains; for the Hokage to station his shadowy operatives here would be a diplomatic affront of the highest order. Besides, if the formidable Mito Uzumaki, Jinchūriki of the Nine-Tails, required a babysitter, then Hiruzen might as well resign his post and become a professional gardener.
She stopped, not turning around, her voice a calm, melodic sound that cut through the quiet air. "You have a particular talent for silence, little shadow, but your interest is a beacon. You've been following me since you first saw me, and you move with the awareness of someone who knows they are being perceived. So why make no real attempt to hide?"
Azula stepped out from the cover of a flowering cherry blossom tree, its petals drifting lazily to the ground. She offered a perfectly executed, respectful bow. Mito turned to face her, her expression one of serene curiosity rather than alarm.
"My apologies, Mito-sama," Azula began, her voice clear and devoid of the childish tremor one might expect. "My intentions are not hostile. I have, in fact, long desired an opportunity to speak with you. Circumstances, however, have been… uncooperative until now."
It was the truth. A blunt, unvarnished truth. And in a world of shinobi, where sensing abilities ranged from the Hyūga's all-seeing eyes that could track a spike in heart rate to sensory types who could hear the subtle catch in a liar's breath, truth was a currency more valuable than gold.
Mito's own ability was said to be among the most profound—a deep, intuitive sense of the heart's intent. You could misdirect it, you could baffle it with complex emotional static, but you could not look her in the eye and feed her a direct falsehood.
It was, as Azula had internally grumbled upon first learning of it, straight nonsense.
Mito nodded slowly, a faint, almost imperceptible smile touching her lips. "I appreciate the candor. Though you worry too much, child. What possible trouble could you brew?"
The question was gentle, teasing almost, but the keen intelligence in her eyes belied its lightness. "So, what is it you seek from me?"
This was the moment Azula had meticulously planned for. She had run through a thousand scenarios, a hundred different angles.
She needed Mito's total, unreserved support. She needed the woman to become her mentor, teaching her all; to become her political patron, her unwavering advocate to be the next Hokage; and ideally, a veritable 'sugar mommy' who could bankroll the revolution she needed to build.
But to ask for all that outright was the strategy of a fool.
So, she began with a simpler, more plausible query. "I am curious about the extent of your renowned skills, Mito-sama. I've heard your sensory perception is unique. Can you… sense the truth? Can you tell, unequivocally, if a person is lying?"
Mito gave a soft, dismissive wave of her hand. "Some specialize in that art, it is true. But I am not one of them. I sense intent, emotion, the weight of a spirit. A clever liar who believes their own fiction could potentially mislead me. Why do you ask?"
A flicker of 'genuine' disappointment passed over Azula's features, so brief it was nearly invisible.
She let her shoulders slump just a fraction, expertly playing the part of a disheartened child. "It is a shame. I carry a… a very significant secret. A truth so vast and unbelievable that if I were to speak it aloud to anyone, they would dismiss it as the fantastical ramblings of a child at play. I had thought, if you possessed such an ability, you could verify it for me. It would have been a great help."
At first, Mito couldn't help but let out a light, airy chuckle. The image of this serious, intense little girl speaking of a 'vast and unbelievable secret' was undeniably cute. Children and their grand imaginations were one of her not-so-secret weaknesses.
But as Azula finished speaking, the humor drained from Mito's face, replaced by a sharp, probing focus. Her intuition, that deep and ancient sense, was thrumming like a plucked harp string. This was no game.
The girl's emotional signature was a complex tapestry of arrogance, caution, and a profound, isolating loneliness, but underpinning it all was the steely, unshakable resonance of absolute conviction. She believed every word she was saying.
"I see," Mito said, her voice now low and serious. "I cannot peer into your mind to discern truth from falsehood. However… I do know a seal. A good Uzumaki fūinjutsu. When applied, it would render you physically incapable of speaking an untruth. It would confirm your secret beyond any doubt."
Azula's reaction was instantaneous and visceral. She took a sharp step back, her previous aura of respectful curiosity hardening into wary defiance. Her mind raced.
A seal? On her body? Absolutely not.
She knew nothing of the art of sealing, and to allow a potent, unknown energy to be inscribed onto her very being was an unacceptable vulnerability. Mito seemed honorable, but honor was a luxury Azula had long since learned to distrust.
The ghost only knew what other commands or triggers could be woven into such a seal if its creator decided not to play fair. It was a risk she would never, ever take.
"I must decline, Mito-sama," Azula said, her voice regaining its polished composure, though a new layer of frost edged it. "That is a solution with far too many variables for my comfort."
A sigh, far too weary for someone who looked so young, escaped Azula's lips. She offered Mito a smile that was equal parts apologetic and stubbornly defiant. It was the expression of a teenager politely declining a second helping of vegetables.
"And please, don't think it's because I don't believe in you. With your immense power, you could probably force me, do something like erasing my memory without me knowing. But I took the risk and came to you because I believe in you."
Internally, Azula was cackling. She wasn't ready to give up her biggest secret about being a transmigrator who knew this world's plot like the back of her hand.
Her mind raced through the reasons why. How to explain it? It all boiled down to cosmic real estate.
Nearly every ounce of chakra in the world, aside from the special stuff Hamura's line kept to themselves, originally came from Hagoromo Ōtsutsuki.
The man wasn't just the progenitor; he was the landlord, the superintendent, and the guy running the front desk of the Pure Land. At first, Azula had a tidy little theory that all chakra and souls just recycled back to him upon death—a sort of universal composting system.
But then she remembered the Impure World Reincarnation, and that theory developed more holes than a... ahem.
If souls could be yanked back for a command performance, the whole system was clearly flawed. But even with flawed logic, she wasn't taking any chances.
If the Sage had even a sliver of a way to skim a dead person's memories—like browsing the history on a shared computer—then her secret was toast. In the ninja world, if you weren't paranoid, you were basically just a happily oblivious guest at your own funeral.
Mito Uzumaki found herself amused for the second time in as many minutes. This strange, sharp-eyed girl was playing the moral high ground card with the audacity of a gambler betting with someone else's money. And, infuriatingly, she was playing it well. A faint, almost imperceptible smile touched Mito's lips. The little ghost had won this round.
"Alright then," Mito said, her voice a mix of resignation and newfound interest. "Follow me."
Without another word, she turned and began walking with a grace that seemed to part the very air. Azula, with a mental shrug that screamed, Well, this is either brilliant or a catastrophe, fell into step behind her.
They moved through the village in broad daylight, a surreal procession: the revered Uzumaki matriarch and the human-shaped trouble and anxiety of the Uchiha. They soon arrived at the Senju compound and entered a house that was less a building and more a testament to Hashirama's… unique architectural passions.
The place was enormous, constructed entirely of wood that didn't just look unnatural—it looked enthusiastic. The grains swirled in patterns that defied physics, and the whole structure hummed with a latent, vegetative energy. It was, Azula decided, a treehouse designed by a deity with a serious Wood Release addiction and a complete disregard for building codes.
Once inside, Mito vanished into what could only be described as her 'treasure room,' returning a moment later with a slip of paper. It looked suspiciously like an explosive tag that had been to a very intense festival and come back covered in esoteric scribbles.
"This," Mito announced, holding it out, "is a tag-version of the seal. More convenient than the full hand-sign-and-palm-to-forehead ceremony. Simply place it anywhere on your body, inject a spark of chakra, and it will activate.
"Its effect is simple: it will prevent you from speaking a lie that goes against your own conscience. Think of it as a particularly Uchiha genjutsu, but self-inflicted. And before you look so worried, you can remove it anytime you wish."
It was only then that Azula realized her earlier performance might have been a tad… overconfident. Mito had clearly seen right through her grandstanding about not being able to detect lies.
She'd probably been as transparent as a freshly cleaned window. Oh well, Azula thought, in for a ryō, in for a fortune. She stuck the paper to the back of her hand like a fancy bandage, channeled a wisp of chakra into it, and felt a brief, warm tingle.
She took a deep breath. The moment of truth. No going back now.
"Alright," Azula said, her voice now calm and eerily flat, the seal smoothing out any dramatic inflection. "I have seen the future of the ninja world. Or, more precisely, highlights of its most spectacular and horrifying calamities."
She began to list them off with the detached monotone of a server reading the daily specials. "The complete and utter destruction of the Uzumaki clan and Whirlpool Country. The Third Hokage, murdered by his own student. The entire village of Konoha being razed to the ground, with barely a single soul left alive. And a global genjutsu that traps every living being on the planet in a perfect dream, pumping them dry of their chakra until they die, all while they smile, blissfully unaware. Oh, and about ten people in the entire world unaffected."
She finished and blinked, the seal's effect fading. "So," she added, her own personality flooding back into her voice, "any questions?"
(END OF THE CHAPTER)
Melonlord note:
So, I came up with a new kind of jutsu (not sure if it counts as ninjutsu or fuinjutsu, honestly). The idea came from mixing the concept of the Kāma seal and the Yin/Strength of a Hundred Seal, but reworked into something kind of like the Avatar State.
Quick refresher:
Kāma = basically a backup drive of an Ōtsutsuki's entire being, stored inside a vessel. It's their way of "living on" through someone else.
Strength of a Hundred Seal/Yin Seal = that diamond mark Tsunade, Sakura, and Mito have on their foreheads. It's from the Sage of Six Paths' era and works by stockpiling insane amounts of chakra over years into one point. Then, boom, instant access to massive power.
Now, in Boruto they hinted the Yin Seal might even be connected to Kāma, which gave me the idea:
What if Azula, when developing her Impure World Reincarnation technique, creates her own version of this — like an Avatar State, but tied to bloodline resonance? Basically, she could temporarily connect with past Uchiha who share her chakra/bloodline, borrowing their abilities or talents. Think of it as syncing with the Uchiha "network" across time.
It could start small — like enhancing her talent if she taps into someone carrying Indra's chakra — but in theory, it might one day scale up to connecting with Indra himself… or even Kaguya, if the connection deepens.
This wouldn't be something she gets right away. I imagine it's something she'd develop between ages 15 and 22, with Mito helping her refine it, and it really comes into play during the Second Ninja War — making her a total game-changer.
Don't forget to vote, thanks for the support and have a good day.