Konoha's council chamber had never felt so hollow. The Hokage's chair sat empty, its carved wood darker than the shadows that clung to the walls. Outside, villagers carried on repairs with Eclipse soldiers in their midst. Inside, power strained at the seams.
Homura slammed her hand down. "This cannot continue! Foreign mercenaries dictating Fire's trade—"
"Not mercenaries," Shikaku corrected softly, leaning back with his arms folded. "Mercenaries don't rebuild docks. Mercenaries don't deliver sorted bandages to medics mid-crisis. Mercenaries take coin and vanish. Eclipse stayed."
"They stayed," Koharu spat, "because it serves them. You call that loyalty? It is infiltration!"
Danzo said nothing, his eye glinting in the torchlight. He didn't need to add fuel. The elders burned plenty on their own.
Homura struck the table with his palm. "Every hour we wait, Fire Country slips further from our grip. Eclipse men patrol our markets. Foreigners dictate trade! And we—"
"—still breathe because of them," Shikaku Nara interrupted, his drawl quieter than the crackle of the braziers. "Don't mistake gratitude for chains. Yet."
Koharu's lips thinned. "Chains are precisely what they've forged. They saved nobles, and now those nobles look to them before they look to us."
Danzo's cane tapped once. His voice was calm, dangerous. "If the daimyo listens too closely to whispers of gratitude, he will begin to think his protector wears a blindfold and carries a cleaver, not a headband."
As if summoned by the thought, the doors opened. A steward entered, bowing deeply. His robes were road-stained, his expression taut with the weight of his errand.
"A letter," he announced. "From the Fire Daimyo himself. With the seals of twelve noble houses."
The chamber stiffened. Even Danzo's fingers paused on his cane.
The steward placed the scroll upon the table and withdrew. Silence pressed until Shikaku broke it, unrolling the parchment with steady hands. His eyes scanned, his jaw tightened, then loosened again into something unreadable.
He read aloud.
"To the Council of Konoha: In the aftermath of calamity, stability is paramount. We owe our lives not to walls or banners, but to those who stood when others faltered. The Eclipse Order preserved nobles and commoners alike, carrying us from fire when our shinobi could not. Among them stood one who bears the eyes of the Founders. The Uchiha began this village. One remains, proven in discipline, wielding power, and commanding loyalty. With Eclipse as his shield, we find in him not a threat, but necessity. We nominate the Uchiha child as Hokage."
The words hung like smoke.
Homura surged to his feet. "Blasphemy! Another Uchiha—after the massacre? Have they forgotten Itachi's betrayal?"
"Or chosen to ignore it," Shikaku said mildly, though his eyes never left the parchment.
Koharu's voice cracked with fury. "They dare impose their will on us? Hokage is not chosen by nobles—"
"The daimyo funds our coffers," Inoichi reminded quietly. "When his seal comes with twelve houses, it is not a suggestion."
The clan heads shifted uneasily. Hiashi's pale eyes narrowed in thought. Shibi adjusted his glasses. None spoke first.
Danzo did. His tone was velvet, concealing steel. "An Uchiha. A child. Surrounded by criminals and missing-nin. You call that Hokage?"
Shikaku finally looked up. "Call it what you like. The nobles call it inevitable. And that's worse for us."
The elders erupted again, but beneath their anger lay fear. The Fire Daimyo's word carried weight. The nobles' gratitude had already bent perception. Hokage or not, a chain had tightened around the council, and they all felt it.
That night, in Wave's administrative hall, Ren unfolded a copy of the same letter. Ink still smelled sharp, seals bright under lamplight. Lelouch stood beside him, hands clasped behind his back, violet eyes alive with quiet triumph.
"They've nominated you," Lelouch said softly. "The nobles, the daimyo. Uchiha blood and Eclipse strength. It's the story they've written. And stories are harder to kill than men."
Ren's Sharingan spun once, then stilled. His voice was low, measured. "I won't take a hat I can't hold."
Lelouch's lips curved faintly. "Which is why you might. You don't need to claim it. They're already giving it to you. Every protest from Konoha only proves the nobles right—that they failed where you succeeded."
Ren folded the parchment, setting it aside. His gaze drifted to the window, where Wave's harbor burned with steady light, ships unloading under the banners Eclipse had quietly repainted.
"Not yet," he said. "But if they tighten the chain themselves, I won't stop them."
Lelouch inclined his head, amused and approving at once. "Then the board shifts again. And every piece moves closer to checkmate."
Outside, Wave laughed in taverns and haggled in markets. In Konoha, the council seethed. In the Fire Daimyo's palace, nobles whispered Eclipse's name with gratitude. And in the shadows, Danzo sharpened his knives.
The Hokage's chair remained empty. But the world was already filling it with a boy who refused to die and an Order that refused to break.