Two years later, Konoha, year 40.
Inside the Hokage's office, the faint aroma of tobacco and the distant rustle of leaves from the window filled the otherwise still air. Sunlight streamed through the shoji, catching the smoke from Hiruzen Sarutobi's pipe in slow, drifting spirals. He sat behind his desk, posture slightly crouched, and eyes faintly shadowed with years of unrelenting responsibility. Across from him stood his former student, Tsunade, the last of her clan- though she doesn't use the Senju name anymore.
Hiruzen set his pipe down with the deliberateness of habit. The embers glowed, casting a warm, orange halo over his knotted fingers. Tsunade sat opposite him, her posture lax in the way of someone who has learned to carry too many losses in private.
It had been far too long since they'd last sat down without the chaos of battle or the pressures of leadership hanging over them. Nawaki's and Dan's deaths had been years ago now, yet the two of them had only exchanged a handful of words in that time.
"Tsunade," he began, voice low and lined with fatigue, "I'm sorry we couldn't talk sooner. I've been buried in my duties… and this war…" His gaze softened, accompanied by the faintest, tired smile. "It's all so tiresome."
Tsunade, arms loosely crossed, didn't even try to muster a polite smile. Yet her presence carried no hostility, only the quiet weight of shared history.
"It's fine," she said simply. "Between me being pulled to the frontlines and you drowning in paperwork and war councils, time's a rare luxury. That's just how it is, old man."
The Second Shinobi World War had been waging fiercely for a while now, and it will probably last for another year or so. Although Konoha is in a good position compared to the other Hidden Villages, it has still depleted a lot of its resources and manpower.
Hiruzen's eyes softened at the familiar nickname, though it couldn't hide the faint ache beneath. "If only your grandfather could see the world now," he said. "War, still tearing everything apart, despite his efforts." He leaned back in his chair, exhaling smoke with a sigh. "I was only a boy, of around six or seven, when the Hidden Leaf was founded. I can still remember the feeling. The peace that came with uniting the clans, and the hope that maybe, finally, it would last."
Tsunade's expression turned bitter. "I loved my grandfather," she said, her voice cutting sharper now, "but he was an idealist. That kind of naïveté is exactly why these wars happened in the first place. If he'd been less trusting, Nawaki and Dan would still be—" Her words caught, but she didn't let herself fall into grief.
Hiruzen gave a slow nod, absorbing her bitterness without flinching. "I've wondered the same myself," he admitted. "Especially about his decision to divide the tailed beasts among the villages. Perhaps he believed shared power would mean shared peace." His tone darkened. "Instead, it only gave everyone more weapons to kill each other with."
Then he looked off into the distance, contemplative, "I can only work harder today, so that at least the next generation can experience that same peace I did."
For a moment, silence filled the office, broken only by the quiet ticking of the clock on the wall. Then Hiruzen shook his head slightly, as though setting aside a conversation too heavy to linger on. "Still… we see each other so rarely, I'd rather not spend our time drowning in what-ifs and regrets."
They spoke then of less painful things, reconstructions, the latest logistics about shorelines and supply routes, the relationships between her and the other Sannin, but grief lay beneath their words. When they circled back, inevitably, to names, their voices tightened.
Then, Hiruzen's eyes sharpened with mild curiosity. "I've heard," he said, "that you often speak with Kushina, the Nine-Tails' Jinchuriki. Are you close?"
Tsunade's brow lifted at the question. "Yes," she said without hesitation. "In some ways, she's the last of my family- however distant. She lived at the Senju compound for a while, and… we were close at the time, like sisters. So, it wasn't too hard to reconnect."
Hiruzen caught the faint flicker of pain on her face, subtle but unmistakable. "That's good," he said quietly. "She's been… difficult to speak to since Uzushiogakure fell. I worry she's isolating herself more than she should."
Tsunade shook her head. "She doesn't strike me as isolated. If anything, she's… well-adjusted enough, considering." Then she added, with an almost casual tone, "She mentioned a guy helping her with the grief."
The words made Hiruzen's eyes narrow, just slightly, but enough. A man? His mind immediately went to the ANBU's reports, the endless surveillance logs. None had mentioned anything about regular male contact beyond her missions. His thoughts ran quickly. 'The ANBU missed this? Impossible.'
Still, his expression betrayed nothing. "Is that so? I've heard nothing of it," he said evenly.
Tsunade looked faintly surprised. "Really? With all the ANBU tailing her, I thought you'd know everything she does." Her tone wasn't accusing, but there was a trace of dry humor there. "I guess she's in a rebellious phase. Probably has some resentment toward you… and the village. But she's young. I'm sure if you just talked to her properly, it would resolve itself."
"Yes," Hiruzen said with an easy smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. "I'm sure it will."
They spoke of other matters for a short while, medical units, battlefield reports, rumors from the Land of Rain, but soon Hiruzen set down his pipe and glanced at the towering stacks of paperwork on his desk. "Well, I should get back to these. The Hokage can never rest."
Tsunade gave a small nod. "Alright, old man. Try not to work yourself into the grave." And with that, she turned, her footsteps fading down the corridor until the door closed softly behind her. She had somewhere to be, anyway.
The moment she was gone, Hiruzen's demeanor shifted. The warm smile dropped, replaced by quiet calculation. He raised one hand in a subtle signal.
From the corner of the room, as if peeled from the air itself, an ANBU operative materialized and knelt before the desk.
"Yes, Lord Hokage?"
"Have there been any men or boys the Jinchuriki interacts with regularly?" Hiruzen asked, his tone clipped.
The masked figure shook their head. "No, Lord Hokage. The only one she interacts with at all is Minato Namikaze, and even that is infrequent. Their contact outside of missions is almost nonexistent."
Hiruzen studied him for a moment longer before nodding. "Understood. Dismissed."
In a flicker, the ANBU was gone. The office returned to silence, though the air seemed heavier now. Hiruzen leaned back, pipe in hand, and took another slow puff, letting his thoughts unravel.
'If not Minato, then who?'
The first possibility that came to mind, if only for its absurdity, was the Nine-Tails itself. But he discarded the thought almost immediately. Even Lady Mito, with her poise and wisdom, had never fully tamed that fox's hatred. For a brash, headstrong girl like Kushina to do so? It was unthinkable. If it were the fox influencing her, he reasoned, it would already have made an attempt to escape.
Which left equally dangerous and more human possibilities.
His face grew grim as another name surfaced: Danzo.
Hiruzen knew well of the shadows Danzo moved in, the web of operatives loyal only to him. He had rooted out several within the ANBU already, marked them, cut them off, or misled them, but there was always the chance that a few had slipped past his notice. If Danzo had made contact with Kushina, if he had managed to plant the seeds of loyalty in her…
The thought was enough to tighten Hiruzen's grip on his pipe.
A Jinchuriki loyal to Danzo, not the Hokage, that would be more than a political threat. It would be a catastrophe.
Without hesitation, he raised his hand again. The same ANBU flickered back into existence, kneeling in perfect silence.
"Summon Sakumo Hatake immediately," Hiruzen ordered.
The ANBU bowed. "At once, Lord Hokage."
And in another flicker, he was gone, leaving Hiruzen once more with only his thoughts, his smoke, and the distant rustle of Konoha's leaves, a sound that suddenly felt far more fragile than it had moments ago.