I'd been staring at the ceiling for what felt like three hours, watching shadows shift across the wooden beams every time someone walked past with a lantern outside. Sleep was playing hard to get tonight, probably because my brain wouldn't shut up about everything that had happened today.
The sound of rustling fabric made me turn my head. Mikoto was shifting on her futon, dark eyes turned toward me. "Can't sleep either?" she whispered.
"Nah. Too much bouncing around in my head." I rolled onto my side to face her, keeping my voice low so we wouldn't wake Tsume. "You?"
"Same." She pushed herself up on one elbow, hair falling in loose waves around her face. That butterfly hairclip from earlier was sitting on the small table beside her futon, catching tiny glints of silver in the dim light. "Are you thinking about what happened earlier? The wounded shinobi?"
"That's part of it." I sat up, running both hands through my hair. "But it's more than just that."
"What do you mean?"
I glanced toward the door, then back at her. "When's the last time you saw Tsunade-sensei today? I mean, really saw her, not just heard someone mention she was in meetings."
Mikoto's brow furrowed as she thought about it. "This afternoon, when we first arrived. She went off for that briefing and..." Her expression shifted. "I haven't seen her since."
"Right. And how many Konoha-nin have you seen leaving this outpost compared to how many are staying put?"
"Not many leaving," she said slowly. "Most of the activity seems to be people settling in, not heading out."
"Exactly." I scratched the back of my neck, trying to organize my thoughts. "Look, I've got no idea what's really going on here. Could be everything's fine and I'm just being paranoid. But something feels off about how passive everyone's being."
"Passive how?"
"We know Suna and River Country are working together now. We've got wounded coming in from ambushes. Border tensions are escalating." I ticked off points on my fingers. "But instead of increasing patrols or launching counter-operations, everyone's just... hunkering down. Building walls. Waiting."
Mikoto sat up fully, pulling her knees to her chest. "Maybe that's the smart play? Fortify positions and let the enemy come to us?"
"Maybe." I gave a half-shrug, but it didn't feel right.
The silence stretched between us for a moment. Across the room, Tsume let out a soft snore, and Kuromaru made a small whimpering sound in his sleep.
"You really think something bad is coming?" Mikoto asked.
I looked out the window at the peaceful settlement, all quiet paths and softly glowing lanterns. "I don't know. That's what's bugging me. Everything looks fine on the surface, but..."
"Your instincts are usually pretty good," she said, and there was something in her tone that made me glance at her again.
"Yeah, well, my instincts also told me that trying sake-flavored ramen was a good idea, so maybe don't put too much faith in them."
That got a quiet laugh out of her. "That was disgusting. I still can't believe you finished the whole bowl."
"Waste not, want not. Besides, it wasn't that bad after the third bite."
"You're insane."
"Probably." I stood up, suddenly feeling like the walls were closing in. "I need some fresh air. Think I'll take a walk around the perimeter."
"Want company?"
The offer was tempting—more tempting than it should've been, considering we were teammates and I was supposed to be professional about these things. But the way she was looking at me, hair mussed from tossing and turning, eyes soft in the moonlight...
"Nah, you should get some sleep," I said, grabbing my sandals. "One of us being awake all night is enough."
"Be careful," she said as I headed for the door. "And Shinji?"
"Yeah?"
"If something does happen... we'll figure it out together, okay?"
"Yeah. We will."
The night air hit me like a cool drink of water after being cooped up inside. I took a deep breath, tasting the difference between this place and Konoha. Less humidity, more pine, and something indefinable that came from being close to the borders. The kind of air that carried tension along with the breeze.
I wandered through the settlement, keeping to the shadows out of habit. Most of the place was quiet, just the occasional patrol making their rounds or the distant sound of someone working late in one of the workshops. Normal outpost sounds.
Eventually, I found myself at the edge of the settlement, where the buildings gave way to open ground and then forest. There was a nice building here, nice enough to give a good view of the surrounding area. More importantly, it had a flat roof that looked perfect for lying down and staring at the sky.
Getting up there was easy enough—a few handholds, a bit of chakra-assisted climbing, and I was sprawled on my back with a piece of grass between my teeth, looking up at more stars than you could see from inside Konoha's walls.
'Much better.'
My mind started to drift, the way it always did when I was alone with the night sky. Funny how being in a different world—one with ninja and chakra and giant fox demons—didn't change the fact that stars were still the best cure for an overactive brain.
I found myself thinking about my old life. Not the dramatic stuff, but the quiet moments. Standing in a kitchen at two in the morning, experimenting with flavor combinations that had no business working but somehow did. The satisfaction of getting a sauce just right after six failed attempts. The way cooking could turn the worst day into something bearable, just by creating something good with your own hands.
Back then, when I was stressed or couldn't sleep, I'd head to the kitchen and lose myself in the rhythm of chopping, stirring, tasting. There was something pure about it. Simple. You put ingredients together, applied heat, and created something that made people happy. No politics, no hidden agendas, no wondering if the person sitting across from you was secretly planning to stab you in the back.
Now here I was—lying on a rooftop in the middle of nowhere, trying to figure out which way the wind was blowing in a game where I was just another pawn on the board. I could see the moves being made, but I was stuck watching from the cheap seats while the people above decided our fate. I missed the days when the biggest decision was whether to add more garlic… or just let the dish speak for itself.
The stars wheeled overhead, distant and indifferent with the small dramas playing out on this little border outpost. I let my eyes drift shut, just for a moment, listening to the sound of wind through pine trees and the distant call of night birds.
Maybe everything really is fine. Maybe I'm just—
CRASH
My eyes snapped open. That wasn't a normal outpost noise.
Another crash, followed by shouting. Then the distinctive whistle of shuriken slicing through the air.
Shit.
I rolled to my feet, instantly alert. Below, the calm was gone. Shadows darted between buildings. Jutsu flared in the dark—blue, red, green—throwing the entire outpost into chaos. Shouts rang out. Steel clashed. We were under attack—and it was coming from every direction.
I dropped from the building, landing in a crouch as my mind shifted into combat mode. My first priority was getting back to Mikoto and Tsume, then finding Tsunade-sensei. After that... well, after that depended on how bad this was.
I sprinted through the settlement, dodging between buildings and staying low. The main paths were chaos—Konoha-nin engaging with enemy forces, civilians running for cover, and way too much blood for comfort.
I was about halfway back to our quarters when something twitched at the edge of my vision—coming from the wrong angle. I dropped low and twisted hard just as a kunai screamed past my ear, slamming into the stone wall behind me with a sharp spark. My shoulder hit the dirt, and I rolled with it, coming up into a crouch.
Standing ahead was a Suna-nin, half-shadowed under the flicker of torchlight. His face was rough and weathered, marked with the kind of scars that only came from surviving too many fights. This wasn't his first ambush. Not even close.
"Well, well," he said, already reaching for another weapon. "Little Konoha genin, all alone in the dark. This should be easy."
I plucked the grass from between my teeth and spat it aside. "You know what your problem is?"
"What?" He paused, apparently curious despite himself.
"You talk too much."
I closed the distance between us, but the guy was ready for it. He slipped my first punch, the blow whistling past his ear, and drove a counter-punch toward my ribs. I twisted away, feeling his knuckles scrape against my vest.
He followed up with a knee strike aimed at my gut. I caught his leg and drove my elbow down toward his knee, aiming to shatter the joint. But the guy twisted at the last second, kicking off my shoulder to break free and landing in a crouch several feet away.
"Not bad, kid," he said, smirking. "But you're still just a genin."
He feinted left, then dipped low and drove an uppercut straight at my chin.
I leaned back—felt the air shift as his fist missed by inches—then snapped mine forward. It landed square in his solar plexus with a solid thud that knocked the wind out of him and folded him in half.
Before he could recover, I seized his outstretched wrist and twisted hard. There was a sick grind of bone, then a wet pop as his shoulder dislocated. He screamed, the sound raw and desperate.
He tried to yank free, swinging wide with his good arm, but I ducked under the haymaker and drove my knee straight into his face.
Crunch. His nose shattered on impact—blood and teeth spraying as he reeled back. Red dotted my pants as he stumbled, but somehow stayed on his feet.
He still wasn't done. Even with one arm hanging limp and his face a mess, he managed to draw a kunai with his off-hand and slash at me in a desperate arc.
I sidestepped, caught his wrist, and slammed my elbow into the side of his head.
The sound was dull and wet, like a hammer hitting soaked wood.
His eyes rolled back, white and unfocused. The kunai slipped from his fingers.
He dropped to his knees, swaying like a drunk, blood spreading out beneath him in a slow, dark bloom.
I grabbed his kunai off the ground and fisted a handful of his hair, yanking his head back to bare his throat.
The blade slid hard across his throat, tearing through skin and muscle in a single, jerking slice.
Blood surged out in a sharp arc, splattering the wall behind him. He collapsed face-first into the dirt with a heavy, wet thud.
One down.
I wiped the blade clean on his vest and kept moving. The sounds of fighting were getting closer, which meant either the battle was spreading or there were more enemies than I'd initially thought.
A shadow detached itself from the wall ahead of me—another Suna-nin, this one trying to be sneaky. I pretended not to notice until he committed to his attack, then spun and caught his arm as it descended. A quick twist sent his tanto clattering away, and I drove my knee into his ribs hard enough to hear them crack.
He tried to grab me in a grapple, but I headbutted him in the nose, feeling cartilage collapse under the impact. Blood poured down his face as I grabbed his shoulders and brought his head down to meet my rising knee. The impact made a sound like a melon hitting pavement, and he went limp.
I let the guy drop and kept moving toward our quarters—but another attacker was already waiting. No shout, no warning—just a fast, silent rush, wakizashi aimed straight at my kidneys.
I sidestepped, but he adjusted mid-strike. The blade missed my back by inches. He spun into a horizontal slash. I leaned back, the steel hissing past my throat.
Then came a flurry—thrust, slash, reverse cut. I slipped through the gaps, just a step ahead. His knee came for my gut. I caught it on my forearm, drove my elbow down at his thigh, but he twisted out of reach, grappling for position. He swung the pommel toward my head. I jerked aside and buried a fist in his kidney.
He grunted, tried to pull away. I stayed on him, trapped his weapon arm, and drove my knee into his ribs—once, twice. The third hit cracked something deep. He sagged.
His grip faltered. I twisted his wrist until bone scraped bone, and he let out a sharp gasp. The wakizashi slipped from his hand.
I caught it mid-fall and rammed it up under his ribs.
The blade tore through muscle and organ with a wet, grinding rip. His eyes widened. Blood bubbled at his lips.
I twisted the steel and ripped it sideways, gutting him open from sternum to spine. His insides spilled out in a hot, coiling heap.
He collapsed, hands scrabbling uselessly at the mess, and dropped face-first into the blood, twitched once, then stopped moving.
Three down. How many more are there?
Our quarters were just ahead, the small building looking peaceful despite the chaos erupting around the rest of the settlement. I pushed through the door, already knowing what I'd find but hoping I was wrong.
Empty futons. No gear. No teammates.
"Damn it." I scratched my head, glancing around the room for any sign of where they'd gone. The butterfly hairclip was gone from the table. The place was a bit messy, but their gear was missing—which meant they'd left in a hurry, but still had time to grab their weapons.
Okay, don't panic. They're both competent fighters, and Tsume's got Kuromaru. They probably heard the attack starting and went to help defend the settlement. Or maybe they went looking for Tsunade-sensei.
That was the logical explanation. The optimistic explanation.
The pessimistic explanation was that they'd been captured or worse.
I grabbed my gear and headed back outside, scanning the settlement for any sign of familiar black hair. The fighting was intensifying—more explosions, more shouting, and the distinctive crack of large-scale jutsu being thrown around.
Find the team first, then figure out how to help with the defense. Simple plan.
Of course, the best-laid plans usually went to hell the moment you stepped outside.
A section of the building next to me exploded outward in a shower of wood and stone, and through the smoke came the largest man I'd ever seen wearing a Suna headband. He had to be at least seven feet tall, with arms like tree trunks and scars covering every visible inch of skin.
He looked at me, looked at the fresh corpse lying in its own blood and entrails, and smiled. It wasn't a nice smile.
"Hello, little genin," he said, cracking his knuckles. "I think we need to have a conversation."
I looked at him, looked at the destroyed building, and sighed.
"You know," I said, settling into a fighting stance, "I really should have just stayed in bed tonight."
The big man's smile got wider. "Too late for regrets now."
Yeah. I was starting to figure that out.
…
…
The Root headquarters sat beneath Konoha like a tumor—silent, hidden, and rotting in the dark. A maze of stone corridors, untouched by sunlight, choked on secrets no one was supposed to find.
Danzo sat alone in the main chamber, his desk littered with scrolls and ink-stained notes. The only light came from a flickering oil lamp that threw long shadows across his face, making the scars look even uglier than usual.
Footsteps broke the silence, soft at first, then sharper against the stone floor. A Root agent emerged from the gloom and dropped to one knee—movements drilled into the bones, long after the person behind them had been stripped away.
"Report," Danzo said without lifting his eyes.
"Someone's been digging for information," the agent replied. "Watching council members and clan heads. They're poking through sensitive records."
"Who?"
"Unknown. They're careful. Going through intermediaries, sniffing around financial trails. Definitely not a rookie."
The agent hesitated, then added, "I can trace the pattern, find the source. Shut them down before they find anything serious."
Danzo set his scroll aside and finally met the agent's gaze. A thin smile pulled at the edge of his mouth.
Too late.
Whoever it was, they'd missed their chance. The gears were already turning. Nothing short of a disaster could stop what he'd put in motion—and paperwork wouldn't cut it.
"No," he said simply. "There's no need."
A pause. He could feel the question lingering behind the blank mask.
"Let them chase shadows. They won't catch anything that matters."
Another silent nod. Then the agent melted back into the shadows without a word.
Danzo leaned back in his chair. The fire in the oil lamp flickered once, then settled.
Let them look.
By the time they figured anything out, it would all be over.
Minutes passed in silence before another presence announced itself. This agent approached with more urgency, dropping to one knee beside Danzo's desk.
"Emergency report from border operations, Danzo-sama."
"Speak."
"Suna hit our patrols and forward positions. Coordinated strikes. We've confirmed multiple casualties. The outpost at the border is under active assault as we speak."
Danzo didn't flinch. If anything, the corner of his mouth twitched up.
Right on schedule.
Suna thought they were making the first move. But they'd only stepped onto the stage exactly when he needed them to.
"Shall we proceed with the River Country sabotage operations as discussed with Lord Hokage and the council?" the agent asked.
Danzo's quiet chuckle echoed strangely through the stone chamber. The question was almost amusing in its irrelevance. There was no need for sabotage anymore. With Suna attacking their outpost, they were already at war. Hiruzen would have no choice but to respond with full military force.
Passivity bred contempt in enemies and doubt in allies. Only through expansion—through strength—could Konoha reclaim its position as the dominant power.
"No need," Danzo said. "Those were just bait for the council and those idiot clan heads. Doesn't matter now."
The agent gave a short bow and disappeared without another word.
Root didn't need explanations.
"Prepare my escort. Time to attend an emergency council meeting."
…
The evening air outside the Hokage Tower was filled with tension. Word traveled fast in a village full of shinobi, and the emergency messages had already reached every major clan compound.
Danzo emerged from the tower's main entrance to find several familiar faces waiting in the shadows near the steps. The clan heads who'd attended previous council sessions stood in a loose cluster, their voices low but their agitation obvious.
Uchiha Tatsuo saw him first.
"Danzo," he snapped, voice tight with anger he didn't bother hiding. "We need answers."
The others turned—Hyuga Manabu, whose usual calm demeanor showed cracks of frustration, and two other clan representatives who'd been vocal supporters of aggressive action during previous meetings.
Danzo walked down the steps slowly, hands folded behind his back. "Answers about what?"
"About why the whole damn operation's falling apart," Tatsuo said. "You claimed River Country was isolated. You said their support would crumble if we cut the right strings. Instead, we're facing full-scale attacks on our positions—and the body count's climbing by the hour."
Danzo spread his hands in a slow, practiced show of helplessness. It was a familiar gesture—refined over years of council meetings and behind-the-scenes negotiations. "My operatives were in position. We were ready to begin destabilization efforts. But Suna moved faster than anyone expected. When an enemy launches simultaneous strikes across multiple fronts, intelligence work stops being useful."
"That's not what you said during the planning session," Hyuga Manabu replied, voice calm but clipped. "You promised that calculated pressure would push River Country away from their alliance without sparking something like this."
"Plans change when circumstances change, Manabu. When the Hokage insisted on diplomacy instead of swift action, it gave our enemies time to coordinate. By the time we got authorization for covert operations, Suna had already committed to open aggression."
"So you're blaming the Hokage?" one of the other clan heads asked.
"I'm stating facts. Hesitation makes enemies think caution is weakness. If we'd moved decisively from the beginning—"
Their conversation was cut short as their eyes turned toward the tower entrance. The group fell silent. Two figures approached—Hiruzen and Shikaro Nara—both looking as if they'd aged years in just a few hours.
…
The council chamber felt different tonight. Gone was the calm discussions of previous meetings, replaced by an urgency that made the air itself seem thinner. Additional chairs had been brought in to accommodate the expanded attendance—every major clan had sent representatives, along with the village elders and senior military staff.
The faces around the table were grim, each clan head already confirmed through their own intelligence networks. Messenger hawks had been flying between compounds all evening, carrying news that everyone already knew but no one wanted to speak aloud.
Hiruzen took his position at the head of the table, his expression matching the somber mood of the room. The weight of leadership was visible on his shoulders like a physical burden, and when he spoke, something had changed in his voice. The gentle professor was gone, replaced by the shinobi who had earned the title of Hokage.
"You all know why we're here," he said simply, his words cutting through the tense silence. "Your clans have already reported the losses. Suna has made their intentions clear through coordinated strikes against our forces. The outpost situation speaks for itself."
Nods around the table. No one needed details repeated. The intelligence had reached every clan compound within hours of the attacks.
"The question before us is not whether we respond," Hiruzen continued, "but how quickly we can mobilize."
"Hokage-sama," Koharu said into the silence. "The clans are ready. We're waiting for your word."
"Every moment we delay gives the enemy time to consolidate their gains," Homura added. "Our forces can be deployed within hours."
Around the table, clan heads nodded agreement. The moment for diplomatic solutions had passed the moment Suna forces began killing Konoha shinobi.
Hiruzen looked around the chamber, meeting the eyes of each clan representative, each elder, each military advisor. Finally, his gaze settled on Danzo, who sat quietly with the expression of a man who had anticipated exactly this moment.
"Very well," he said. "As of this moment, I am authorizing full military mobilization. Fire Country is at war with Wind and River Country."
He stood, and every person in the chamber rose with him.
"Mobilize our jonin forces immediately. I want strike teams deployed to secure our border positions and launch retaliatory operations against Suna staging areas. Clan heads, prepare your best shinobi for extended campaign deployment."
The chamber erupted into focused activity as orders were given and accepted. Messenger hawks were summoned. Supply officers were called. The machinery of war rumbled to life, heavy and unstoppable.
Through it all, Danzo remained seated for a moment longer than the rest, savoring the satisfaction of a plan executed flawlessly. Sometimes the greatest victories were achieved not through direct action, but by creating circumstances where your enemies did your work for you.
This was how nations truly grew strong—not through defensive posturing or diplomatic half-measures, but through decisive expansion when opportunity presented itself. Konoha had grown complacent in peacetime, content to maintain the status quo while their rivals quietly built strength. The First Hokage's naive dream of balance between villages had created stagnation, not prosperity.
Real power came from controlling resources, trade routes, and strategic territories. River Country's fertile valleys would play a key role in feeding Konoha's growing population. The mountain passes offered defensive advantages that could secure their borders for generations.
Hiruzen's generation still clung to idealistic notions of coexistence, but the world didn't reward such thinking. It rewarded strength, expansion, and the willingness to seize what was needed when the moment arose. Tonight, Konoha would begin reclaiming its rightful position as the dominant power among the hidden villages.
The village hidden in the leaves was going to war, and that was exactly what he'd wanted all along.
...
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