Konoha Hokage Tower
The smoke in the office was so thick it felt solid.
The tip of Hiruzen's pipe glowed dimly as smoke drifted upward, casting flickering shadows across his clouded expression. Across from him, Mitokado Homura's glasses reflected a cold glint. Utatane Koharu's lips were drawn tight as wire.
"This is... a formal decree from the Daimyō, Sandaime Hokage-sama." The messenger, a well-dressed man with pale skin and an air of practiced civility, stood politely, though a trace of scrutiny and condescension hid behind his gaze.
He unrolled a scroll lined with gold fire-patterned trim. His voice rang out, crisp and deliberate. "In recognition of Kamiyama Ryo, disciple of Tsunade-hime, for turning the tide in the Land of Rain and shocking the shinobi world with his achievements, the Daimyō hereby—"
There was no need to finish.
The crimson half-sleeve robe with gold trim, lying quietly inside the ornate wooden box beside him, was hotter than a brand from a forge. It scalded the hearts of the three elders in the room.
Homura's Adam's apple bobbed slightly. His hand, as he adjusted his glasses, visibly trembled.
They, the so-called Konoha F4, had just finalized a plan to begin suppressing Kamiyama Ryo's influence.
And now the Daimyō had handed down this public reward, slapping a golden seal on Ryo's fame.
A joke.
Now, with this imperial commendation, his reputation was sanctified with authority they could not touch.
"We thank the Daimyō for his generosity." Hiruzen's voice was dry. He barely held on to his dignity as Hokage. "Konoha is honored."
The messenger seemed oblivious to the suffocating atmosphere, or perhaps intentionally ignored it. He gave a slight bow. "Then, I shall take my leave. The robe will be officially presented to Ryo-dono after the welcoming ceremony."
The heavy doors closed behind him, sealing off the suffocating pressure along with the box bearing the fire-colored half-sleeve.
Only silence remained. The air inside the office was tense, thick with restrained frustration and a looming sense of defeat.
Koharu slammed her hand on the desk, making the teacups rattle. "Seal it! The details of Ryo's role on the frontlines must not be disclosed. Not a single word! Increase propaganda shinobi!"
"What about Tsunade and the others?" Homura snapped, his voice fast and tight. "Danzō's plan in the report... increase it. We have to shift the focus."
Hiruzen closed his eyes. When he opened them again, all that remained in the murkiness was pure resolution. "Push the narrative. Immediately highlight Tsunade, Orochimaru, and Jiraiya. Say they severely wounded Hanzō. Say their teamwork stalled the Ame forces and crushed Suna's elite. Push the title: Konoha's Legendary Sannin."
"As for credit, attribute it to the Hokage's leadership. To Danzō's strategy on the frontlines. To the bloodshed and sacrifice of all Konoha shinobi. Do you understand?"
"All of it, for the Will of Fire."
Thus, the title "Konoha's Legendary Sannin" was forcefully elevated with unprecedented momentum. It was slammed across the village, and even across the shinobi world, in a desperate attempt to outshine the rising brilliance of the "Asura of Konoha."
A few days later
Konoha Main Gate, Welcome Plaza
The midday sun was sharp, pouring over the expansive welcome plaza in front of Konoha's gates. The air buzzed with long-missed enthusiasm, layered with a festive heat.
The streets were packed.
On both sides of the road, civilians, genin, merchants, elderly folks, and children alike stretched their necks and stood on toes to watch.
Among them, Konoha shinobi stood scattered throughout. Most wore tired but relieved smiles.
Flags snapped in the breeze. Emblazoned on them were emblems of victory, and the freshly promoted name that had yet to take root in people's hearts—"Konoha's Legendary Sannin."
Hiruzen stood at the head of the reception party. Beneath the Hokage hat, his wrinkled face wore the most polished official smile he could muster.
On either side stood Homura and Koharu, wearing equally proper expressions, though their eyes repeatedly flicked to the rear of the approaching column.
"They're here! They're back!" someone shouted.
The crowd instantly erupted. A tidal wave of cheers roared skyward, nearly blowing the clouds apart.
On the horizon, the long procession moved forward like a tired dragon returning to its nest. Covered in dust, but reeking of hard-fought blood and steel.
Tsunade walked at the head, dressed in a plain battle uniform.
Her posture remained upright. Her golden ponytail shimmered in the sunlight like a banner of victory.
Countless blazing gazes locked onto her figure. Cheers followed like thunder.
"Tsunade-hime!"
"Tsunade-sama!"
"The Legendary Sannin! It's Konoha's Sannin Shinobi!"
Tsunade's face held little expression. Her brow furrowed slightly out of habit.
The shouting made her uncomfortable. What weighed her down even more were the banners hanging above and the coordinated chants echoing through the crowd.
It was clear. Hiruzen and the rest of those F4 bastards were using this spectacle to suppress Ryo's brilliance.
A wave of exhaustion swept over her.
After barely surviving total annihilation in the Land of Rain, this kind of political performance felt pathetic and soul-draining. Legendary Sannin? What a joke. The old man's attempts to downplay Ryo while covering things up made her sick.
But she didn't have the strength to argue anymore.
She glanced behind her without thinking.
Ryo walked a few paces back, dressed in simple black shinobi attire. His dark red hair framed those icy silver eyes that calmly swept over the chaos before him.
He seemed removed from it all, as if this whole event was happening in another world. The applause and cheers bounced off him, unable to penetrate the invisible wall of ice around him.
The titles forced onto others meant nothing to him.
He never cared about fame.
Beside him walked Nara Shikashin. The calm, seasoned jōnin had a complicated look in his eyes. He watched the crowd erupt with energy, then turned to glance at Ryo's unnaturally composed demeanor. He exhaled softly.
Midway down the procession, a reinforced carriage rolled forward with the group.
The curtain was slightly lifted, revealing Nawaki's pale and gaunt face peeking out. He watched the crowd with a twisted smile as the cheers echoed around him.
Seeing the "Legendary Sannin" banners, he tried to smile, but the pain from his chest injury warped it into a grimace.
Mikoto, beside him, gently pulled the curtain closed again, shielding him from the blinding sunlight and the overwhelming noise.
Kaori, who had just climbed into the carriage, looked at Nawaki with a heart-wrenching expression.
She remembered the time after being rescued from Kusagakure. Nawaki had looked after her personally in the Senju compound, helping her settle in, teaching her Konoha customs, offering warmth like family.
Now, he lay suffering. Her eyes reddened instantly.
"Want some water?" Her voice trembled.
Nawaki shook his head. He just wanted air.
At the edge of the crowd, a small figure with striking wine-red hair suddenly burst forward like a bullet.
Her eyes shone brightly. Locked on the familiar figure at the front of the group.
Ryo felt it.
He turned his gaze.
"Ryo—!!" Kushina shouted at the top of her lungs. Her voice cut through the entire roar of the crowd.
In the next second, she became a red whirlwind. Ignoring the crowd. Ignoring the Hokage. Ignoring everything.
She rushed straight to him.
Without hesitation, without shame, Kushina leapt up, threw her arms around his neck, and pulled him down.
Then, in front of the entire village, she kissed him. Fiercely. Without reservation.
Countless eyes widened. Mouths opened. Shock filled the air.
Uzumaki Kushina, the brash girl who shone like the sun... had just kissed the returning "Asura of Konoha" in front of everyone.
Hiruzen's perfect smile cracked instantly. His face froze like plaster. His pupils dilated slightly, and deep in his eyes brewed a storm of shock, anger, and an even deeper fear.
The jinchūriki of the Nine-Tails. With the one they were already struggling to contain?
This combination was too dangerous.
This wasn't just about Ryo's growing reputation. It was two nuclear warheads bound together.
In that instant Kushina leapt onto him, Ryo's body instinctively leaned back. But the arms around his neck held him tight.
A moment of confusion passed, followed by a familiar helplessness and a subtle indulgence.
He knew her passionate and impulsive nature. He was used to it.
So he didn't resist. He relaxed and let her kiss him. Her declaration of ownership was rough, but earnest.
It didn't last long.
Kushina, breathless, finally released him. Her face flushed red, but she looked proud like a triumphant little bird. She looked around, satisfied, and spotted someone in the crowd.
"MIKOTO! Mikoto! I'm here!"
Following her gaze, Mikoto was trying to quietly retreat toward the medical convoy. But she was blocked by Uchiha Fugaku.
Fugaku stood in full clan attire, forcing out what he believed was a warm and sincere smile. "Mikoto, welcome back. Shall we—"
Mikoto stopped, her expression calm. But deep in her eyes, aimed at Fugaku, was unhidden distance and years of suppressed irritation.
She took a deep breath, just as she was about to speak.
A sharp, cold pressure descended without warning.
It pierced straight toward Fugaku.
He felt like he'd been hit in the chest with an invisible hammer. His body swayed, face instantly pale, breath caught in his throat.
Instinct made him retreat half a step. In his eyes, the black pupils twisted violently into scarlet. Three tomoe spun wildly.
His Sharingan had activated.
Not out of intent, but from sheer survival instinct.
But it was useless.
The terror that surged from deep in his soul drowned him.
Ryo didn't even look at him. His back was turned.
But in Fugaku's shaking vision, that back had become a demonic figure born of endless blood and corpses.
Sweat rolled down his temple, soaking the collar of his robe.
His legs trembled.
Under the weight of that killing intent, and the pressure behind it, he could barely stay standing.
His Sharingan took in every detail of Ryo's form. But his mind was blank. Nothing remained except raw, soul-deep fear.
Last time at the clan gates, he'd barely managed to speak.
This time, he couldn't even form a word.
(To be continued.)
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