Danzo Shimura knelt upon the broken ground, the dirt scarred and torn at the very place where his summoning beast had perished.
The air carried the faint, fading scent of blood and burnt chakra, the remnants of the battle still clinging to the soil. His knees pressed into the earth, and for the first time in years, his heart felt unbearably heavy.
His body, known for its ruthless coldness, trembled slightly as memories came rushing back like an unstoppable flood.
He thought of his past—his youth—back when he was still a boy who knew what it meant to laugh, who knew what it meant to have companions beside him.
Back then, he was not the Danzo the world would come to fear. He was simply Danzo Shimura, a boy placed into the care and training of the great Second Hokage, Tobirama Senju. In those days, he had something rare: friends.
Real friends. They were Hiruzen Sarutobi, Homura Mitokado, and Koharu Utatane. Together, they formed a team under Tobirama's guidance, a team that grew, trained, bled, and survived side by side.
Danzo remembered clearly the warmth of that time. The moments when he believed that with each mission, with each battle, with each test of fire and blood, they would grow strong enough to stand as equals.
He believed, wholeheartedly, that if he pushed forward with all of his might, he would become a man worthy of their teacher's acknowledgment.
He believed that he too would rise high enough to inherit Tobirama's mantle and sit upon the seat of Hokage.
That belief became his fuel. That belief burned inside his heart like a sacred flame.
Every time he clenched his kunai, he thought of standing beside Hiruzen, Koharu, and Homura. Every time he completed a mission, his thoughts were of his sensei's eyes finally turning toward him with approval.
And every time he pushed himself harder, it was with the vision of being Hokage—a Hokage who was strong, a Hokage who was worthy, a Hokage who would protect the village.
But that dream, that hope, that glowing flame inside his chest was shattered on one single day.
The memory played in his mind like an unending nightmare. They had been on a mission.
They were surrounded, ambushed by none other than the Gold and Silver Brothers, Kinkaku and Ginkaku, infamous for their overwhelming strength and cunning.
The battlefield turned into a hellscape within moments. They were trapped, their escape cut off, their lives hanging by a single thread.
Danzo remembered the suffocating pressure of death closing in.
The metallic stench of blood filled his lungs, and the weight of despair pressed down on his shoulders. They were about to die. All of them. Even Tobirama-sensei.
But then, their great teacher made a decision. A decision that would forever haunt Danzo Shimura's soul.
Tobirama looked at them—his students, his disciples, his comrades—and declared that he would act as the decoy. He would sacrifice himself to buy them time.
His face had been calm, almost serene, as if his own death was a small price to pay for the survival of the next generation.
Yet before that sacrifice, Tobirama had asked a single question.
"Who among you is willing to stay with me? Who will sacrifice themselves alongside me, so that the others may live?"
At that moment, the world froze for Danzo. His heart pounded inside his chest. He wanted to speak.
He wanted to raise his hand, to step forward, to prove that his dream was not empty words. He wanted to show that he was worthy of being Hokage.
But he hesitated.
The weight of fear pressed on his lungs. The burning desire to live consumed him. He thought of his dream—his grand, shining dream of becoming Hokage—and he told himself that if he died there, everything would vanish. His ambition, his goal, his destiny—all of it would crumble to dust.
And so, in that fatal moment, Danzo hesitated.
He clenched his fists so tightly his nails dug into his skin. Sweat poured down his face. His throat tightened. His voice refused to come out.
And then, in his place, his closest friend stepped forward.
Hiruzen Sarutobi.
With firm eyes and unwavering resolve, Hiruzen declared that he would stay. He would take that burden. He would accept that sacrifice.
Danzo's heart shattered into pieces.
Bitterness surged in his chest, yet before he could even recover, before he could even speak, Tobirama's words thundered through the battlefield and branded themselves into Danzo's soul for eternity.
"You have proved yourself, Hiruzen. You are the one most worthy. From this moment forward, I, Tobirama Senju, the Second Hokage of Konoha, appoint you as the Third Hokage."
Those words.
Those cursed words.
They echoed inside Danzo's mind endlessly, like chains rattling in the darkness of a prison.
They became his eternal nightmare. He thought, again and again, that if he had spoken just a little bit sooner, if he had stepped forward just a fraction faster, then it would have been him. He, Danzo Shimura, would have been named Hokage.
But he had hesitated.
And that hesitation destroyed him.
From that day onward, he carried an unhealed wound deep within his heart.
He carried the bitterness of knowing that his greatest dream had been stolen away—not by chance, not by fate, but by his own cowardice, his own hesitation, his own weakness.
And as Hiruzen Sarutobi rose into the light, Danzo was swallowed by the shadows.
The village celebrated Hiruzen. They hailed him as the wise, kind, and noble Third Hokage.
They looked at him as the embodiment of strength and compassion. He became the guiding light of Konoha, the pillar of peace, the leader admired by all.
And Danzo? Danzo became nothing more than a shadow lurking behind him. The darkness that no one wanted to see. The man who carried the bitterness of failure like a curse.
Every day, Danzo thought of that moment. Every night, he relived that hesitation. And every time he remembered, his obsession grew stronger.
He told himself that he would never again hesitate. He told himself that no matter what, no matter the cost, no matter the sacrifice, he would grasp the title of Hokage. Even if he had to stain his hands with blood. Even if he had to bury his humanity. Even if he had to become a monster.
To him, Hokage was not just a title. It was salvation. It was redemption. It was the only way to erase that scar from his soul.
Danzo's chest tightened as he knelt there on the battlefield where his summoning beast had fallen. His face remained expressionless, yet deep inside, his heart writhed with regret and fury.
Even after so many years, he could still hear Tobirama's voice. He could still see Hiruzen stepping forward. He could still feel his own lips trembling with hesitation.
It was the regret that shaped him.
It was the regret that destroyed him.
It was the regret that made him the man he was now.
And it was the regret that pushed him further and further into the shadows, into obsession, into the madness of a man who would never let go of his dream.
Danzo sat silently, his knees still pressed against the cold ground where his summoning beast had breathed its last.
His eyes stared ahead, but his mind drifted into the endless abyss of memories that clawed at his heart.
It was not only the death of his loyal beast that made him feel heavy, but also the unbearable truth of his life itself.
The one moment that haunted him more than any battle scar, more than any failure in missions, more than any wound on his flesh, was the moment that defined the course of his existence.
It was that single hesitation, that single breath of delay, that one instant where he failed to step forward when Tobirama sensei had asked the most important question of their lives.
Danzo could still hear Tobirama's voice in his ears as if the Second Hokage were standing in front of him even now. Tobirama had looked at his team, his loyal students, when they were surrounded by the Silver and Golden Brothers' ambush.
Death was inevitable, and survival was the priority. Tobirama had asked them—who among you will stay behind with me? Who will sacrifice alongside me so the others may live?
Danzo remembered that moment clearer than any other. His heart had pounded in his chest. His body had trembled.
His mind had screamed at him that this was his opportunity, this was the chance to prove himself, to prove to Tobirama that he was worthy, that he could be the one chosen as Hokage.
But at the same time, another voice in his head had whispered with venomous clarity: If you stay behind, you will die. If you die, you will never be Hokage. You will never achieve your dream. You will never see that day of glory.
That hesitation chained him. That hesitation froze his feet. That hesitation silenced his tongue.
And in that very instant of weakness, his friend—his rival, his companion, his teammate—Hiruzen Sarutobi stepped forward. Without fear, without hesitation, without greed, Hiruzen declared his willingness to stay. Hiruzen chose sacrifice. Hiruzen chose to embody the Will of Fire.
Danzo remembered the bitter taste in his mouth, the way his chest had tightened, the suffocating realization that he had allowed his dearest friend to make the decision he should have made.
His lips had almost parted to speak, but it was too late. The moment was gone. His silence had already revealed everything about his heart.
And then came the words—the eternal curse that would burn in Danzo's soul until his final breath. Tobirama's voice, calm and steady despite the weight of death pressing upon them:
"Hiruzen, you have proven yourself. From this day onward, I, Tobirama Senju, the Second Hokage, appoint you as the Third Hokage."
Those words were like a kunai piercing directly into Danzo's heart. They were not just words; they were a judgment.
They were a declaration of failure. They were the proof that in that one defining instant, Danzo had been weighed, measured, and found lacking.
From that day forward, Danzo lived not in the light of his own dreams but in the shadow of Hiruzen's brilliance.
Where Hiruzen stood tall as the Hokage, the beacon of the village, the shining flame of the Will of Fire, Danzo fell into the darkness, lurking in the background, unseen yet watching.
And yet, in the quiet corners of his mind, Danzo never stopped thinking.
Over and over, he tortured himself with the same thought: If I had spoken a little faster… if I had moved a little quicker… if I had declared my resolve a single heartbeat sooner… maybe, just maybe, Tobirama sensei would have chosen me.
Maybe I could have been the Hokage. Maybe the light of the village could have been mine.
This "maybe" was Danzo's greatest torment and his greatest drive.
The years passed, but the wound never healed. Instead, it festered, turning into bitterness, into envy, into an obsession that consumed his very soul.
Hiruzen sat on the Hokage's chair, making decisions, leading the village, being admired by the people. And Danzo watched from the shadows, every day suffocating under the weight of his regret.
Every smile that Hiruzen received from the villagers was like a blade twisting in Danzo's chest. Every word of praise for the Third Hokage was a reminder of his own failure.
Every time Tobirama's last words echoed in his ears, Danzo felt his heart grow darker, heavier, more desperate.
He began to see himself not as Hiruzen's equal, not as Hiruzen's rival, but as Hiruzen's opposite.
If Hiruzen was the light, then he would be the shadow. If Hiruzen was the Will of Fire, then he would be the root that supported that fire from beneath the ground.
If Hiruzen was the smiling leader of the people, then he, Danzo, would be the ruthless protector that the people never saw, the one who dirtied his hands for the sake of the village's survival.
This belief consumed him. This obsession guided him. This regret molded him into something else entirely.
And day by day, year by year, Danzo's obsession with becoming Hokage only grew. It became not just a dream, not just a goal, but an addiction, a madness, a curse. His heart whispered endlessly: I was supposed to be Hokage.
That seat should have been mine. I cannot stop until I take it, no matter how many years it takes, no matter how many sacrifices are required, no matter how much blood stains my hands.
The Danzo who had once been a hopeful boy with dreams of standing beside his friends was long gone. In his place stood a man twisted by regrets, fueled by jealousy, and consumed by obsession.
And yet, even after everything, even after all the mistakes, all the shadows he embraced, all the cruelty he inflicted, all the darkness he chose to walk through—Danzo did not regret his path.
He told himself again and again: I did what was necessary. I chose the role the village needed. I chose the role no one else had the courage to accept.
I chose to be the shadow. And one day, when the time comes, I will rise as Hokage. I will claim what should have been mine from the beginning.
Danzo's eyes burned with obsession. The fire of his desire had never gone out; it only smoldered deeper, hotter, consuming everything else within him.
He did not care how many lives were lost, how many enemies he created, how many sins he carried.
All that mattered was the goal. All that mattered was the title. All that mattered was the dream he had once lost in a single hesitation.
And so Danzo became what he had once feared—no longer a hopeful boy, no longer a loyal friend, no longer even a man seeking honor.
He became a monster of obsession, a creature who lived only for the throne of Hokage, no matter what it cost.
The shadow of his regret stretched across the years, and still, he could not escape it.
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End of Chapter
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