"That depends on whether the intel you've got is actually worth anything," Tobirama Senju replied ambiguously, giving no clear affirmation.
The night stretched long and sleepless, but for the dead like them, time was meaningless.
But Sora might not have that luxury. It was uncertain whether he'd survive long enough for Kazuma to speak the truth.
With the Nine-Tails' chakra eating away at him, if he didn't get proper treatment soon, Sora wouldn't just be disfigured—he'd be left with severe trauma and permanent damage. Kazuma couldn't bear the thought.
"I'll talk. I'll tell you everything."
In the end, Kazuma chose to bear it all alone.
Even if he refused, Ibiki Morino would just tear the truth out of his mind.
Even if he died, Konoha would use the Reanimation Jutsu to drag him back, control him, and force him to talk.
Alive or dead, the secrets in his mind wouldn't stay safe.
So he might as well just say it now—cleanly, clearly—and trade it for a slim chance at saving Sora.
As he started revealing all the intelligence he had on the Land of Fire, Kazuma suddenly remembered something Danzo had once said to him:
"Aren't you afraid Sora will end up like Naruto?"
And now, he was. He was terrified.
Afraid that once he was gone, Sora would be ridiculed, insulted—cast aside and despised like Naruto Uzumaki had once been.
During his time among the Twelve Guardian Ninja, Kazuma had made plenty of enemies—powerful people, nobles, ones who wouldn't hesitate to exact revenge.
They'd use Sora as a target for their resentment, their cruelty—make him wish for death, yet never grant him the release.
So Kazuma would wager all this intel for a single, uncertain chip from Konoha.
"There. That's everything I know about the Land of Fire. I've said all I can."
Kazuma exhaled deeply, a weight lifting from his chest.
"Alright. Take him away."
Tobirama didn't even lift his head, still poring over forbidden techniques as if Kazuma's words were trivial, irrelevant.
"You're not worried I might've lied?" Kazuma froze. Tobirama's calmness made him uneasy.
Was the intel worthless to them?
This was information involving everyone—from the Daimyō to the nobles—an intricate web of political figures in the Land of Fire.
Any piece of it could be used to blackmail someone for tens of millions in ryo.
And yet... Konoha didn't even flinch?
"You wouldn't dare."
Tobirama's reply was flat and cold.
And just like that, Kazuma's panic dissolved into clarity.
He really wouldn't dare.
"Can I make a request? Let Sora stay in Konoha?"
Kazuma dropped to his knees, bowing deeply as he begged.
Gone was the dignity of a former Guardian Ninja. He was just a father now.
"You can ask. But whether he stays or not, that's up to the kid."
Tobirama's voice held no emotion. "Let's be clear, though—if he refuses, if he's ungrateful, Konoha won't force him to stay."
"And if he wants revenge against us, he'd better be ready to die."
"So make sure he understands."
It was Uchiha Shisui who added the final word.
"…I will. I'll talk to him."
Kazuma, still kneeling, looked up at Shisui with gratitude and bowed again.
...
Hiruzen Sarutobi lay in bed, half-conscious, listening to the wind and rain.
In his dreams, he rode an armored warhorse across frozen rivers, riding off to battle.
He dreamed of fighting alongside his mentor, Tobirama Senju, slaying enemies side by side, walking into death together.
He dreamed of the Second Great Ninja War—leading the Sannin, commanding the Senju and Uzumaki clans, charging straight into Hanzo of the Salamander, wielding Enma, cutting down that demi god on the battlefield and claiming victory for Konoha, earning his name as the greatest Hokage.
He dreamed of the Third War—standing at the front lines, fearless, commanding the village's ninja. He cut down the Raikage, defeated the Tsuchikage, unified the shinobi world… then retired in honor, revered as the "Professor" of ninjutsu.
But in the end, it was just a dream.
When he woke, Hiruzen found himself lying stiffly on the ruined, desolate grounds of the Sarutobi compound.
Next to him was Asuma—drooling, mindless, limbs shattered like his own.
All night long, Asuma's moans and cries had kept Hiruzen in a state of restless half-sleep.
Seeing his son like this—unable to recognize anyone, laughing idiotically no matter who called to him—Hiruzen's heart shattered. Tears flowed freely down his face.
"Danzo… I'll never forgive you."
"I'll make sure Jiraiya avenges me."
"I swear it!"
"Lord Third… is there anything I can do for you?"
A nurse hurried over upon seeing him awake, bowing respectfully.
"No need."
Then, after a pause:
"By the way… I think I heard a piece of music earlier. Do you know what it's called? Who played it?"
"It's called 'Between Love and Hate.'" the nurse replied, eyes glowing with admiration.
"Between Love and Hate...?"
Hiruzen murmured. "Who composed it? Who played it?"
From that song, he had heard an overwhelming sense of resignation.
What kind of life must someone have lived to write something so raw, so wrenching?
What heartbreak could create music so filled with sorrow?
It was as if the piece had been written just for him.
"It was composed by Clan Head Itachi, and performed with Miss Izumi," the nurse said, her voice dreamy.
"Itachi…?"
Hiruzen's expression shifted, dazed.
"Mmhmm. Clan Head Itachi said he wrote it on a surge of emotion," she said, her face complicated by awe and longing.
Between Love and Hate. A surge of emotion…
Hiruzen drew in a deep breath as the music looped again.
He nearly cried.
The music squeezed his heart. He felt ashamed—for what had become of Konoha, for what he'd done to the Uchiha, the Senju, the Uzumaki.
And somehow, that contradictory, tangled mess of feelings—grief and joy, guilt and gratitude, hatred and love—was all captured perfectly in that single melody…
"Oh—Clan Head Itachi left you a poem before he left," the nurse added, reluctantly producing a folded slip of paper.
A poem.
"Read it," Hiruzen whispered, closing his eyes.
"Though I lie stiff in a ruined village, I do not grieve,
I still long to guard the frontier for my nation.
In the dead of night I listen to wind and rain—
Iron hooves cross frozen rivers, invading my dreams."
"Clan Head Itachi said… he understands you," the nurse said, blushing in admiration.
How could someone like Itachi even exist?
Born to a noble clan, awakened the Mangekyō Sharingan at thirteen, became Uchiha clan head, could sing, compose, write poetry…
If only I'd had the chance to kiss him once, the nurse thought, fuming as she remembered Izumi had gotten there first.
"Though I lie stiff in a ruined village, I do not grieve, I still long to guard the frontier for my nation..."
Tears spilled from Hiruzen's eyes once again.
Itachi's poem had spoken the truth of his heart—and his present condition.
A ruined village… Wasn't that just the destroyed Sarutobi compound?
Hiruzen had moved back here with Asuma to avoid the ridicule of others. He didn't want anyone mocking his son—or him.
And yet Itachi, moved by old ties, hadn't kicked them while they were down.
He had arranged for Uchiha nurses to care for them 24/7.
That… was a kindness.
"To guard the frontier"…
Was Itachi telling him not to give up? That even crippled, he could still serve the Land of Fire? Still be of use to Konoha?
That he wasn't done yet?
Hiruzen wept—grateful, heartbroken.
Itachi… you truly are a good person.
Even with all the complicated feelings between them, at the end of the day, he had extended a hand.
He hadn't misjudged him after all.
"Tell Itachi… I won't give in so easily."
Sniffling, eyes wet, Hiruzen nodded.
"Mhm."
The nurse nodded as well, eyes soft.
Am I being too cruel to Hiruzen Sarutobi? Killing the body, then breaking the heart...