It had been weeks since Kushina's attack on Konoha. Since then, the village had made an impressive recovery- at least on the surface.
Much of their power was still lost- over seventy-five percent of their genin, half of their chunin, and nearly a fifth of their jonin. The only reason so many jonin and chunin survived at all was by chance: they had been out of the village on missions when the disaster struck. The Second Ninja War was still raging at the time, and every nation needed all hands on deck. So it was mostly the inexperienced genin who were left behind, assigned to low-level duties inside the village.
Figures like the Third Hokage, Tsunade, Orochimaru, Sakumo, and Jiraiya were still alive, but even they were not enough to fill the void. Tsunade's paralyzing fear of blood weakened her combat presence, and Sakumo lay broken in a coma. Even legends could not defend a crippled village alone.
Each of them could take on a jonin after a jonin without breaking a sweat, but the difference in sheer numbers was too vast. Without lower-level troops to support them, even the strongest pillars would eventually collapse.
But everything changed when Kumo was hit as well.
Not only had Kumo been pressing Konoha the hardest, but Kushina's assault on them sent a message to every hidden village. What was the point in fighting each other when a single girl was running rampant, destroying everything in her path? It was madness to squabble over borders when there was something far worse looming above them all.
Thus, a temporary truce was called. For the first time in years, blades were lowered. And with it came the official end of the Second Great Ninja War.
This sudden reprieve took immense pressure off Konoha, allowing the battered village to finally turn inward and begin reconstruction.
Funds from the Fire Daimyō arrived by the chestful, along with caravans of builders and craftsmen. They tore down the flimsy Earth Release huts and makeshift tents that survivors had been crammed into and began erecting proper infrastructure again. The clang of hammers and saws echoed day and night, almost drowning out the silence left by the dead.
Despite all of this, the situation remained dire.
Many of the surviving jonin and chunin wandered listlessly through the streets, their eyes hollow. They went through each day like broken dolls, their movements mechanical, their gazes empty.
Yes, they had been lucky enough to survive, but most had left behind families buried in the rubble. Cousins, parents, siblings, children- gone in a single night. Entire bloodlines snuffed out.
Others were consumed by rage instead, throwing themselves into relentless training, driving their bodies past breaking point for the faintest chance at revenge. This was not anger that would fade in a year, or even a decade. It was hatred carved deep into their bones.
But regardless of whether they were hollow or burning, everyone still moved forward. Even if they lost everything else, they still clung to the Will of Fire.
This described Sakumo Hatake perfectly. Of all the shinobi in Konoha, few believed in the Will of Fire more deeply than the White Fang.
After his battle against Kushina, he fell into a coma with injuries that should have killed him ten times over. Tsunade, despite her paralyzing fear of blood, had forced herself to operate anyway. She worked tirelessly day after day to keep him tethered to life- for the sake of her comrade, and for the sake of little Kakashi.
The damage was brutal. Internal organs battered, bones shattered, and muscles torn. Even for the greatest medical kunoichi in history, it had been a nightmare, especially with only a barebones hospital tent and dwindling supplies. More than once, she had nearly lost him. More than once, she had to steady her own shaking hands and remind herself who lay before her.
But Tsunade endured.
And now, weeks later, her persistence was finally rewarded.
She sat by his bedside, checking his vitals with practiced precision, when she noticed his eyelids twitch. At first she thought it was her imagination, but then his fingers stirred against the sheets. His breath hitched.
Then his eyes snapped open, and his body jolted upright.
"Wha- where am I?" His voice cracked from disuse, raw with panic.
Tsunade let out a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding. Relief surged through her chest, but she buried it quickly and placed a firm hand on his shoulder.
"Calm down."
Sakumo stilled, then sucked in deep breaths until his frantic heartbeat steadied. He was a warrior; it didn't take long for discipline to reassert itself.
Tsunade gave a small nod, satisfied. "A few weeks ago, you fought Kushina. You, the Hokage, Jiraiya, and Orochimaru. She struck you so hard that it left you in critical condition. You've been in a coma ever since."
The memory returned to him in fragments- blinding crimson tails, the roar of the Nine-Tails, his sword failing against impossible force. His chest tightened. He had underestimated her; all of them had.
Then he looked around the tent, taking in the crude cots, the medicinal herbs piled in bowls, the flimsy canvas walls. An unsettling chill rooted itself in his gut.
"What happened after?"
Tsunade hesitated, her expression darkening. "It's better if I show you."
She helped him stand. His body screamed in protest, but he was Sakumo Hatake- he refused to linger like an invalid. Slowly, stiffly, he followed her outside.
The flap opened.
And his breath froze.
Beyond the encampment lay ruins stretching to the horizon. Homes reduced to rubble. Roads torn into jagged trenches. Whole districts erased from the map. Even the landscape itself bore scars- trees snapped like twigs, hills flattened, earth gouged by monstrous force.
"…Kushina did this?" His voice was barely a whisper.
Tsunade nodded solemnly.
A horrible thought struck him, and he turned on her urgently. "What about Hana? Kakashi?!"
"Kakashi survived…" Tsunade's eyes softened. "…but Hana died protecting him."
The words hit harder than Kushina. His knees nearly buckled. He turned away, walking back into the tent in silence.
When Tsunade followed, she found him clutching the short sword left by his bedside, pressing the edge to his chest.
"What are you doing?!" she shouted, rushing forward to seize it.
Tears streamed down his face, hot and unrelenting. "I failed Konoha… I failed Hana…"
Her hand cracked across his cheek before she even thought about it.
"What about Kakashi?!" she roared. "Do you want him to grow up with no parents at all? Do you want him to walk this world alone?"
Sakumo flinched, stunned into stillness.
Tsunade's chest heaved with fury. "And don't you dare forget the village. Konoha needs you- more than ever! Use your damn head!"
For a long moment, silence hung between them, broken only by his ragged breathing. Then, slowly, Sakumo lowered the blade. His shoulders sagged, his voice hoarse. "…You're right. I'm sorry."
Her anger faded, replaced by weary understanding. "I know the feeling. I've been there too. But you still have people who need you. Don't throw that away."
With that, she left him alone.
Sakumo sat motionless, staring at the canvas wall. His thoughts churned.
Why had Kushina done this? The answer was simple- revenge. Uzushiogakure had been betrayed, and she was repaying betrayal in kind.
And yet… the simplicity of that answer gnawed at him. Why target civilians? Why slaughter Genin and academy students who had no hand in Uzushio's downfall? Why leave Danzo and Hiruzen breathing while children's corpses lined the streets?
If she had gone after only the ones responsible, like Danzo, Hiruzen, and the elders of the other villages, he might have understood. He might even have supported her in some way.
But this… this wasn't justice to him.
His heart ached. Once, he had thought of Kushina almost like a daughter. During the long months Hana cared for her, the girl had practically been family. She laughed at their table, sparred in his yard, and played with Kakashi. There had been warmth in her, fire tempered by compassion.
But that warmth had burned away, leaving only hatred.
Now Hana was dead, Kakashi motherless, and his beloved village in ruins. And it was by Kushina's hand.
It was unforgivable.
He clenched his fists. Whatever grief weighed on him, he could not afford to drown in it. The White Fang had one duty left- to sharpen his blade and give what remained of his strength to the village. That was his role now.