The village square of Akagakure churned with the quiet tension of anticipation. An announcement had circulated through the Uzumaki clan, summoning all to gather before a quickly erected platform at the heart of the village.
Over a hundred clansmen, their red hair catching the late afternoon sun, heeded the call without hesitation. They stood in neat rows, their faces a picture of curiosity, and their whispers audible. The platform was adorned with black banners bearing the red Uzuamki swirl.
Kushina had issued the summons only hours after resolving Nagato's defiance.
She had underestimated the depth of her clansmen's discontent over her decision to execute the builders- outsiders who had helped construct Akagakure's walls.
She had assumed they shared her disillusionment, her hard-earned distrust of those beyond the clan. After all, the Uzumaki had endured the destruction of Uzushio, betrayed by allies who turned on them. How could her people not see the builders' smiles as masks hiding inevitable treachery?
She believed her decision to eliminate the outsider builders was obvious and necessary. In her mind, the matter should have been self-evident: these outsiders could never be trusted. Not truly. History had already taught her the cost of naïveté.
But Nagato's hesitation had revealed something troubling- her people were not as hardened as she was. They still clung to a dangerous innocence, unable or unwilling to see betrayal until it struck them in the back.
They still thought fondly of the men and women they had eaten beside, shared laughter with, and worked shoulder to shoulder with during construction. They could not accept that all it would have taken was one whisper, one bribe, or one weakness, and the secrets of their clan would have spilled.
Yet her people doubted her. There had been no open rebellion or challenge to her leadership, but the undercurrent of discontent was palpable. She needed to clear the air, to make them understand why she had done what she had done.
Kushina mounted the stage. She wore a simple black cheongsam adorned with crimson Uzumaki swirls, her hair tied back in a loose bun. Her appearance, delicate and almost girlish, might have seemed at odds with her reputation- were it not for the oppressive aura she carried. It weighed on every person, pressed on every chest- the kind of intangible pressure that only a person who had slaughtered thousands could emanate. (Image)
She stood tall, her blue eyes scanning the sea of red-haired clansmen. With chakra enhancement, her voice boomed across the square, clear and unyielding, carrying the weight of her conviction:
"You whisper of cruelty. You murmur that I have spilled blood needlessly. You question. You ask- why did I kill them? Why did I spill the blood of those who built these walls?"
The crowd stirred, a ripple of unease passing through them. A few averted their gazes, while others leaned forward, hanging on her words.
"I will tell you why!" Kushina's voice rose, sharp. "Because they were not Uzumaki! Because they saw what no outsider should see- our secrets, our strength, our sanctuary! To let them live would have been to invite betrayal. To trust them would have been to place a dagger at our own throats and wait for the day they chose to strike."
Her words hung in the air, heavy. She stepped forward, her presence filling the square. "But hear me now, and understand: what I have done, I have done for us- for the Uzumaki, for our survival, for our future. Outsiders helped build these walls, yes. They laid the stones with their hands, but they were never meant to walk within them! They were never meant to live among us!"
The crowd murmured, a mix of agreement and hesitation. A few nodded, their faces hardening, while others shifted uncomfortably, their trust in her warring with their lingering doubts.
Kushina's eyes blazed. "We are not a clan that bends. We are not a clan that begs. We are a clan that endures. We endure because we are willing to be ruthless when others are weak. Mercy is a luxury for those who are already safe. We are not safe. We stand on the ashes of Uzushio, surrounded by enemies who would see us fall again. Do you wish to see us fall again?!"
The silence cracked. From the middle of the crowd, a voice shouted, "No!" Others followed, a rising wave of defiance against the thought.
"No, you do not!" Kushina's voice thundered, matching their fervor. "And neither do I! And so I chose as a leader must choose: not for comfort, not for sentiment, but for survival!"
She paused, letting her words sink in. The square was alive with energy, the air thick with the weight of her conviction. "Let the world call us cruel. Let them call us merciless. Let them tremble at the name Uzumaki. Because the truth is this: only a people feared will never be conquered again. Remember this: our survival is not in their hands- it is in ours!"
The crowd erupted, voices colliding like crashing waves. "Uzumaki! Uzumaki!" The chant swelled.
Kushina raised her hands, commanding silence, her breath even though her pulse hammered.
"Whether you think my work is right," she continued, her voice softer but no less commanding, "whether you believe that I have been diligent, that I have worked, that I have stood up for you during these almost two years, that I have used my time decently in the service of my people…" She paused, sweeping her eyes across them, daring them to look away. "You cast your vote now. If 'YES,' then stand up for me as I have stood up for you!"
The answer came in an eruption of chants.
"Long live the Akakage!"
The cry repeated, over and over, until the words merged into one thunderous declaration. Her name echoed against the walls, against the mountains beyond, and against the sky.
The Uzumaki, united once more, stood as one. Their faith in her assured.
As she looked at their fire and heard their chants, Kushina allowed herself a small smirk, basking in the energy of the moment.
---
When the chants finally faded and the square emptied, Kushina walked back through the quiet halls of her home. The rush of victory still burned through her veins, yet beneath it pulsed the familiar ache of solitude. Every triumph seemed to come with that hollow echo- another weight piled onto her shoulders.
She stood by the window, gazing out at the village below. The crimson and black banners fluttered in the evening breeze, and the distant sound of waves crashing against the shore filled the silence. Her chambers were sparse but elegant, adorned with only practical things like Fuinjutsu scrolls, and a single red blossom in a vase.
Kurama stirred next to her, his presence a warm sensation in her chest. He had been silent during her speech, but now his deep, resonant voice broke through. "You were magnificent."
Kushina blinked, almost startled by the rare praise. She turned from the window, her hands clenching at her sides. "Magnificent?" She hesitated, "Sometimes I wonder if I'm doing the right thing. If I've gone too far without even realizing it."
"You are exactly what they need- what you need," Kurama said, his tone carrying a gentleness she rarely heard. "You carried them, Kushina. Every word, every breath- you took their fear and discontent and turned it into fire. They needed to believe in something unshakable, and you gave them you."
She swallowed, her gaze dropping to the floor. "You make it sound so noble."
One of Kurama's tails unfurled, curling around her like a warm embrace. "It is noble," he countered. "Strength isn't cruelty, and surviving is nothing to be ashamed of. You're not like them, Kushina. You're something more- and they followed you because they could feel it."
Kushina leaned into him, the tension in her body unwinding. The weight pressing on her chest lightened, tempered by his quiet certainty.
"Kurama…" she whispered, a trace of vulnerability slipping through her guarded exterior.
His head lowered until his face brushed close, his red eyes steady and unwavering. "No matter what they- or the rest of the world- might say, I will only ever admire you."
Her lips curved into a faint smile, hidden against his body. She let herself exhale fully, the fire in her chest no longer raging but steady, shielded within his warmth.