"Konoha-Style Kenjutsu: Hazy Moonlight Night!"
With a sharp shing, Yugao Uzuki drew her blade.
Her ninja sword sliced through the air, creating a crescent-shaped arc of energy—like the shimmering glow of a full moon in the night sky. The technique was elegant, precise, and devastatingly fast.
Buzz… buzz…!
A wave of shimmering afterimages burst forth from her blade, surrounding Yoruha in a flurry of motion. The lines between illusion and reality blurred under her overwhelming technique.
Of course—
Yugao wasn't trying to hurt him. As an elite swordswoman, she had perfect control over her blade.
This move wasn't meant to strike—it was meant to inspire.
She wanted Yoruha to see it up close.
To see what true swordsmanship looked like.
But just as she moved, calm and composed in her instructional mindset—
Yoruha unsheathed his blade.
A glint of silver light cut through the space between them like lightning across a darkened sky.
His sword strike was swift and dazzling—so precise that it felt like time paused for a heartbeat.
In that moment, Yugao's elegant moonlight blade was eclipsed—
as if the rising sun had swallowed the night sky whole.
Clink.
Yoruha smoothly resheathed his sword.
There was no smugness in his face—just a touch of quiet sorrow.
"A shame I was born too late... I'll never get to see swordplay like White Fang's,"
he murmured under his breath.
"I'm leaving."
Yugao remained frozen in place, still locked in the finishing stance of her technique.
She watched as Yoruha turned away, her heart unsettled by what had just happened.
Suddenly—
A breeze swept by.
A single strand of her purple hair drifted up in the wind, curled gently in front of her eyes… and floated away.
Gulp.
Yugao swallowed, removed her ANBU mask, and let out a soft, helpless laugh.
"No wonder Lord Third pays so much attention to him…
That boy really is a monster-level genius."
But that raised another question:
Why was someone like him still flying under the radar after thirteen years?
Why hadn't his name echoed across Konoha by now?
She didn't ask.
Because when it came to Yoruha…
Asking would mean questioning fate.
Thirteen years.
Although Yoruha was the eldest son of the Yamanaka clan,
this was his first time entering the Hokage's office.
"Yoruha, you're here early—please, have a seat,"
said the Third Hokage with a kind smile, gesturing casually toward a chair.
"There's no need to be nervous. Make yourself at home."
Yoruha sat down calmly.
"Lord Third, you summoned me so suddenly.
Is something the matter?"
Of course, he already had an idea what this was about—team assignments—
but still chose to ask out of courtesy.
Hiruzen smiled, exhaling lightly through his nose before answering.
"Yes, it's about your team placement now that you've graduated.
Normally, as the Yamanaka clan's eldest son, you'd be expected to join Shikamaru and Choji, forming the new Ino-Shika-Cho.
But… since your family has decided to let your sister Ino inherit that tradition—
I'd like to hear your thoughts on where you think you belong."
Yoruha stared silently at the Hokage for a moment.
Truthfully, he hadn't always thought highly of Hiruzen Sarutobi.
But just now, he'd noticed a small, unexpected detail.
Earlier, the Third Hokage had reached toward his pipe, as if to take a puff.
But halfway there, he paused—and pulled his hand back.
The gesture was tiny. Most people wouldn't have caught it.
But Yoruha did.
That wasn't acting. That was a man torn between habit and conscience.
It was instinct versus rationality.
The old man had chosen to resist smoking, likely out of consideration for Yoruha's health.
"He didn't want to expose me to secondhand smoke…"
For a moment, Yoruha saw the man not as a Hokage—
but as an ordinary old grandfather doing his best.
From that perspective…
Maybe the Third Hokage wasn't so bad.
But that didn't erase the past.
Hiruzen wasn't a villain—but he was a man who had stood still when action was needed.
If, twelve years ago during the Nine-Tails' rampage,
he had been the one to step forward and seal the beast—
perhaps he would've been remembered as a hero like Hashirama or Tobirama.
Instead—
That moment belonged to the Fourth Hokage.
And Hiruzen? He missed his chance.
Now, the best he could do was try to fix his legacy through textbooks and stories.
But some stains couldn't be scrubbed away.
Still—
At least he'd produced one worthy disciple: Orochimaru.
In the end, it was Orochimaru's dark winds that gave Hiruzen the chance to die as a true hero.