Renji's days in the hospital passed in quiet calculation. His body rested, but his mind worked ceaselessly. Every polite smile from a nurse, every visit from masked ANBU, every faint word of rumor that carried through the corridors—he stored them all away. And in the silence of night, his shadows waited.
"Strike Root again," Renji whispered one evening, emerald eyes glinting faintly under the dim light. "And cripple the Shimura clan's nest while you're at it. Let Danzo be occupied in the dark. I don't want him focusing on me."
Beneath the village, in the cold tunnels of Root, alarms echoed like hollow bells.
The hammer-shadow charged first, its weapon sparking with force as it smashed through fortified gates. The steel barrier warped under a single blow, splintering like cheap wood. Root operatives rushed forward, silent killers clad in black, but the archer-shadow was already there. Arrows of shadow whistled through the air, striking true with unerring accuracy.
The fight was vicious. Root operatives moved like a single organism—disciplined, efficient, deadly. They used coordinated tactics, sealing off corridors and attacking from blind angles. The shadows countered with raw ferocity, weaving genjutsu illusions that made enemies strike at phantoms, and using brute force to destroy walls, storage, and defenses.
Still, their weakness showed. They lacked the versatility of ninjutsu, no fire or lightning to scorch, no earth walls to defend. Root's shinobi pressed them hard, their kunai glancing off shadowed forms, their jutsu cutting close. The hammer-shadow took several hits, emerald blood dripping from wounds that should not exist.
But the shadows refused to retreat. The archer rained arrows into powder stores, igniting explosions that rocked the underground halls. The hammer shattered weapon caches and tore down supply rooms. Scrolls, ninja tools, poisoned blades, and crates of explosive tags vanished into the void as they were swallowed into the mind's-eye realm.
By the time Root shinobi rallied to protect their command hub, the attackers were gone. Only ruin remained.
Danzo stood in the wreckage of his headquarters, cane striking the stone floor as he surveyed the destruction. His single eye smoldered with cold fury.
Two Root shinobi approached, kneeling before him. "Danzo-sama, the attackers came from the shadows. We could not—"
The cane slammed into the nearest one's throat. The shinobi crumpled instantly, choking for air that would never return.
"The enemy fights like phantoms? You bring me excuses," Danzo spat. His voice was colder than the grave.
Danzo turned away, cloak shifting like a shadow. "We abandon this base. Strip everything of value. Burn what cannot be carried. From now on, Root scatters. We will operate from the dark, deeper than Konoha has ever looked. If our enemy believes us crippled, let them believe it—until they choke on the trap we weave."
The surviving operative lowered his head, trembling, his voice no louder than a whisper. "Yes, Danzo-sama."
That night, Root operatives vanished from the underground, leaving behind nothing but collapsed tunnels and ashes.
But in Danzo's chest, his anger burned hotter than ever. The loss of ninja tools and covert scrolls would take time to recover, and every moment wasted gnawed at him.
While Root bled, the polearm-shadow stalked the Shimura compound. Unlike Root's military order, the Shimura clan's strength lay in its network of businesses—trading houses, supply chains, and discreet deals in the dark corners of the village.
The shadow struck like a scalpel, not a hammer. Storehouses burned quietly from within. Records of trade contracts vanished into emerald voids. A training hall collapsed under a well-placed detonation, rendering it useless for months. Debts were rendered untraceable, and shipments delayed.
Few lives were taken. But when dawn came, the Shimura clan's power was fractured, its foundation shaken in ways money could not easily repair.
When the missions ended, Renji recalled all the shadows.
"Now find a place" he asked the shadows from his hospital bed, his voice low but resolute. "Somewhere it will be difficult to find you all. Build. Hide. Train."
The shadows searched far beyond Konoha's walls until they discovered it: a narrow ravine buried beneath cliffs and dense forest. The place was silent, forgotten, unmarked on any map. They made it their nest.
First, they sealed it. Using stolen concealment techniques, they wove layers of techniques into the landscape, bending sight and sound so that any wanderer would walk past unaware. Then they dug into the ravine's walls, hollowing chambers from stone.
One cavern became an armory, lined with racks of kunai, shuriken, poisoned blades, and crates of explosive tags. Another chamber was filled with stolen scrolls—rows of techniques spread across the floor, sorted and studied. A third cavern, deeper still, became their training hall. Hammer blows rang against rock, arrows whistled through shadows, polearm sweeps cracked the earth, and twin blades danced in silence.
It was not a village. It was not meant to be. It was a fortress, hidden and patient, growing stronger in the dark.
After his discharge, the first thing Renji did was head toward his home in the Uchiha district. When he was near the house, an ANBU masked shinobi barred his way.
"This sector is sealed," the ANBU said coldly. "You cannot enter. You are being relocated near the Nara clan's forest. Hokage's orders."
Renji's eyes narrowed. He said nothing, only nodded. So they want to keep an eye on me from now on. Let's give them what they want then.
The new house was a ruin—walls sagged, roof half-collapsed, floorboards creaking with age. Dust hung heavy in the air. Renji worked silently, repairing beams, patching walls, and restoring doors with his own hands. By nightfall, the house was no longer a ruin but a modest shelter.
And when he stepped outside, he found a small stream running just behind the property, its cool water flowing endlessly through the grass. A quiet, hidden blessing.
Days later, Renji entered the Academy grounds, recommendation scroll in hand. Iruka Umino met him at the gates, his smile polite, though cautious.
Days later, Renji entered the Academy grounds, recommendation scroll in hand. Iruka Umino met him at the gates, his smile polite, though cautious.
Iruka greeted him at the front, clipboard in hand. "You're entering late, but you'll join the current class."
He stepped inside, lips curving faintly. So I get another opportunity to annoy Hiruzen. Let's say I hate Sasuke. That will be fun. Renji tilted his head, his voice edged with venom. "Do you mean the same group as that traitor's brother, Uchiha Sasuke?"
Iruka frowned, his usual warmth faltering. "Yes. The same group. But remember—one's fault shouldn't be transferred to others."
Renji gave no answer. He simply walked to the empty row at the back, his footsteps deliberate, his face unreadable.
The classroom buzzed with chatter, laughter, and scuffling. Naruto's voice rang loudest, bickering with someone in the back. Sasuke sat alone, arms folded, eyes sharp and distant, ignoring everyone around him. Heads turned when Renji entered, whispers rippling through the children.
"Another Uchiha?""Thought they were all gone…"
Renji ignored them. He scanned the room, every face stored in memory. He spotted Naruto's loud defiance, Sasuke's silent pride, Sakura's constant glances at Sasuke, Shikamaru's lazy eyes watching everything.
And as he sat down in the empty row, his thoughts whispered: Let's be as far as possible from these folks.