The silence that followed was heavier than any shout.
It pressed down on the square, thick and suffocating, as though the village itself had stopped breathing.
Homura and Koharu stood frozen.
For the first time, neither of them was thinking.
Toyoma's words had not merely insulted Hiruzen—they had erased the distance between a Hokage and a target.
When they had first seen the six tomoe burning within his eyes, an old unease had stirred in them.
Stories.
Legends.
A name spoken only in whispers.
Madara.
They had thought then that the situation could still be controlled.
Now, they understood how wrong that had been.
This was no longer a reckless child.
This was a dangerous Uchiha.
Danzo felt it too.
More sharply than the others.
Fear crawled up his spine—not just because of the eyes, but because of what stood behind them.
Zero tolerance.
This boy did not fear the village leadership.
He despised it.
"You insolent bastard—who gave you the audacity—"
Danzo's shout cut off.
"Shut the mouth you dare to speak with."
The voice was calm.
So calm that it slid directly into Danzo's ear.
Toyoma didn't raise his voice.
That was what frightened them most.
"Listen carefully," he said, and for the first time, there was something beneath the calm—something heavy.
"We didn't come here to threaten the village."
His gaze lingered on the Uchiha standing behind him.
"We came because our people were attacked."
"Because our families were targeted."
"Because children were made afraid in their own homes."
A pause.
Not dramatic.
Painful.
"They didn't answer us," Toyoma continued quietly. "They hid behind authority."
"Behind titles."
"Behind rules that only matter when it's convenient."
His eyes lifted.
"They didn't come here to explain."
"They came here to remind us of our place."
The words settled into the crowd like ash.
"That they can point at our children… our women… our elders—"
"And say: be quiet, or it will get worse."
Shikaku felt his chest tighten.
This wasn't provocation.
This was an accusation.
"I know what you're thinking," Toyoma said, his voice steady again. "That the Uchiha are dangerous."
"That we should endure it."
"That peace is more important than justice."
A bitter curve touched his lips.
"We've been enduring for generations."
"And while we endured, our blood, our wealth, and our resources were drained to fatten those in power."
His gaze hardened.
"I also know this."
He looked at the village leadership—really looked at them.
"As long as you sit in power, you believe the clans will obey. You believe fear will keep order."
His eyes flicked to Danzo.
"You believe the Uchiha can be crushed quietly."
The silence stretched.
"I won't lie," Toyoma said. "We are not strong enough to fight the entire village."
Some of the Uchiha stirred.
"But strength isn't just numbers," he continued. "It's resolved."
His voice dropped.
"And this is mine."
"If today we leave without answers," Toyoma said, each word measured, "and if any force is used against us—"
He inhaled once.
Slowly.
"Then the first clan that moves against us will cease to exist."
Gasps rippled through the crowd.
"Half of the Uchiha will stand here and die if necessary," he said, without bravado."The other half will make sure the lesson is remembered."
His eyes burned—not with madness, but with certainty.
"No distinctions," Toyoma finished."Between shinobi and civilians. Between those who give orders and those who support them."
His gaze swept across the clan heads.
"You believe this isn't your problem."
"It will be."
"The first clan that follows the order to raise a hand against us—"
A pause.
Cold.
"Will become the answer you all claim to be seeking."
The silence did not break.
It bent.
Hiruzen Sarutobi finally stepped forward.
Not in anger.
Not in haste.
That alone unsettled the crowd.
His face was still red, his eyes bloodshot—but his voice, when it came, was calm.
Measured.
Heavy with authority, sharpened by decades of rule.
"What happened to the Uchiha families," Hiruzen said, "is a serious matter."
Murmurs stirred.
"We will investigate it thoroughly."
Not justice.
Not punishment.
Investigation.
Toyoma did not move.
Hiruzen's gaze shifted—not to the Uchiha behind him, but to the villagers, to the clan heads, to the space where fear lingered thickest.
"But hear me clearly," the Hokage continued. "No individual—no matter their bloodline—has the authority to issue threats against the village."
His words fell like a seal being pressed.
"Today's gathering," he said, "has crossed the boundary of lawful discourse."
A pause.
Cold.
"I am declaring this assembly unlawful."
The air changed.
ANBU shifted—subtly.
Not drawing weapons.
Not advancing.
Positioning.
"The Uchiha are ordered to return to their clan grounds," Hiruzen said. "Immediately."
No shout.
No threat.
Just law.
"Any further movement," he added, "will be treated as escalation."
Shikaku felt his stomach drop.
This is containment, he realised.
Not resolution.
Around them, clan heads stiffened.
The Aburame patriarch lowered his gaze, fingers tightening inside his sleeves.
If this becomes precedent…If a clan can be isolated this easily…
The Hyuga patriarch felt a chill crawl up his spine.
If the Uchiha fall today, he thought, who stands alone tomorrow?
The Kurama clan head swallowed.
Don't speak.
Don't move.
Don't be first.
None of them said a word.
That silence was not agreement.
It was survival.
Danzo watched it all.
And smiled.
Not outwardly.
Inside.
Good, he thought. They're afraid.
Fear made people predictable.
The boy had done something remarkable—he had fractured the illusion of unity. Now all Danzo had to do was guide the fracture.
He's not a rebel, Danzo realised.
He's a symbol.
Symbols could not be reasoned with.
They could only be broken.
Danzo leaned slightly toward an elder, his voice low, almost thoughtful.
"If this is allowed," he murmured, "what stops the next clan from doing the same?"
The seed was planted.
He didn't wait for an answer.
Another whisper, another angle.
"To threaten civilians… to name clans as targets…""Even if his grievances are real… can the village survive that precedent?"
A Root operative melted into the crowd at his signal.
Orders passed without words.
Let someone else move first, Danzo thought.
Let Toyoma's prophecy fulfil itself.
Hiruzen turned his gaze back to Toyoma.
"This is your last warning," he said evenly. "Order your clan to stand down."
The pressure was immense now.
Law.
Fear.
Silence.
Every eye was on the boy.
Not waiting for a shout.
Waiting for a choice.
Toyoma stood unmoving.
The Sharingan burned.
And for the first time since the confrontation began—
The village realised something terrifying.
Hiruzen was trying to stop a war.
Danzo was preparing to win one.
And the clans…
We're praying they won't be chosen as the first example.
Toyoma listened to Hiruzen in silence.
Then he laughed.
It wasn't loud.
It wasn't wild.
It was sharp—and utterly humourless.
"Sarutobi Hiruzen… hahaha."
The name alone made several elders stiffen.
"I know exactly what you're thinking,"
Toyoma continued, his laughter fading as quickly as it came. "That these ANBU will contain us. That in the name of investigation, you'll drag this on until the fire dies out."
His eyes narrowed.
"But you forgot something."
The Sharingan burned brighter.
"I said the first clan that made a move would be the one to pay."
A ripple ran through the gathered clans.
"And that move," Toyoma said calmly, "has already been made."
Hiruzen's expression changed.
Not anger.
Calculation.
Toyoma didn't wait.
"The Yamanaka shinobi were the first to attack our families," he said, his voice carrying clearly across the square. "And the Yamanaka clan head himself stated it was done under your authority."
He turned his gaze back to Hiruzen.
"And from your tone just now, it's clear you have no intention of giving us answers."
Silence.
Heavy.
Suffocating.
Toyoma's eyes shifted to the gathered clan heads.
"Now listen carefully," he said. "Your silence has a price."
The air felt colder.
"Today, four clans will bleed."
Shock rippled outward.
"Yamanaka."
Inoichi flinched.
"Nara."
Shikaku's breath caught.
"Akimichi."
Choza's fists clenched.
"And finally," Toyoma said quietly, "the Uchiha."
The words settled like a death sentence.
"We will all die today," Toyoma continued evenly. "But not quietly."
The villagers froze.
"Our deaths," he said, "will become a countdown."
A pause.
Calculated.
"The Uchiha fighting on the borders will not stop when we fall," Toyoma said. "They will start killing every Konoha shinobi they encounter."
Gasps broke out.
"Yes," Toyoma acknowledged calmly. "We die today."
His gaze hardened.
"But Konoha will begin to die with us."
The clan heads stared at him now—not in disbelief.
In understanding.
This wasn't madness.
This was preparation.
Toyoma turned back toward the Uchiha.
"Tell me," he said, his voice steady. "Do you follow my command?"
For a heartbeat, no one spoke.
Then—
"Yes."
Another.
"Yes."
Then Grand Elder Setsuna stepped forward, laughter bubbling from his throat—not joy, but something ancient and feral.
"Yes," he said loudly. "Make the first move, you bastards."
Setsuna turned his gaze toward Hiruzen.
"Sarutobi kid," he said, voice ringing with certainty, "make the first move."
His smile was thin.
"And I promise you—you will feel it."
The square erupted.
"Are you all insane?!" someone shouted. "Have the Uchiha lost their minds?!"
Toyoma ignored them.
He turned his gaze to Koharu.
"You still don't understand," he said quietly. "We came here already prepared to die."
His voice softened—not in weakness, but in finality.
"Tell me," Toyoma asked, "what is the meaning of living… if we are only going to be killed slowly by this village?"
Silence answered him.
No law.
No authority.
Only the weight of a choice that could no longer be avoided.