The silence stretched longer than it should have.
Too long.
The crowd gathered near the Yamanaka district gates—villagers, shinobi, and clan representatives alike—stood frozen in place.
Whispers that had once filled the street had long since died, leaving only tension hanging thick between the stone walls and wooden rooftops, as if the village itself were holding its breath.
Shikaku Nara finally stepped forward.
His expression was calm—but those who knew him understood what that meant.
Calm was not peace. It was a calculation.
"Enough."
His voice wasn't loud, yet it carried across the open street, echoing against nearby compound walls and drawing every stray villager's attention toward him.
"We are not pushovers," Shikaku said, his gaze fixed on Toyoma. "Not the Nara. Not the clans standing here. And not the village itself."
A murmur rippled through the gathered shinobi and civilians alike.
They all knew why the Uchiha had come here. They all knew whose blood had already been spilt.
"You speak of resolve," Shikaku continued evenly. "You speak of sacrifice. But do not mistake that for dominance."
Toyoma turned his eyes toward him.
Unblinking.
Shikaku met his gaze without flinching.
"The Uchiha are not the only ones who can bleed," Shikaku said. "And we will not allow the village to be held hostage by threats—no matter how justified you believe them to be."
The words landed heavily.
Several clan heads straightened. Some looked relieved—not because the Uchiha were being opposed, but because someone had finally stood between fear and collapse.
Toyoma listened.
Then he nodded.
Slowly.
"You're right," Toyoma said. "You are not pushovers."
Shikaku frowned slightly.
"And yet," Toyoma continued calmly, "you stand here pretending you still have a choice."
The murmurs died instantly.
"You don't," Toyoma said simply.
Shikaku's eyes sharpened.
"You speak as if the village has already decided."
"It has," Toyoma replied. "You just don't want to admit who decided."
A chill crept up Shikaku's spine.
"You know the truth," Toyoma continued.
"You know who made the first move. You know whose authority was used. You know why this situation exists."
Toyoma's gaze shifted.
Not to the villagers watching in fear.
Not to the Uchiha standing behind him.
But to the Hokage at the centre of it all.
"You are a strategist, Nara clan head," Toyoma said. "Tell me—what happens when a leader refuses to answer?"
Shikaku's jaw tightened.
"Delay," he said slowly. "Containment. Then control."
"And what does delay cost?" Toyoma asked.
Shikaku didn't answer immediately.
Because he knew.
"Blood," Toyoma said for him. "Eventually."
The silence returned.
Heavier than before.
Shikaku exhaled.
Then he turned.
Not toward Toyoma.
Toward the Hokage.
"Hiruzen Sarutobi," Shikaku said quietly.
Every head—villagers, shinobi, clan leaders—snapped in that direction.
Hiruzen's eyes narrowed.
He understood instantly.
This was the edge—where hesitation turned into betrayal, and authority began to rot from within.
"This has gone far beyond the Uchiha."
Shikaku continued. "A Root shinobi under village command attacked a child while that child's parent fought for Konoha at the border."
The words cut deeper when spoken aloud, carrying across the street where civilians could hear every syllable.
"You are no longer containing a situation," Shikaku said. "You are dragging the entire village toward destruction."
The clan heads stiffened.
"The Pig–Deer–Butterfly alliance has already stated the truth," Shikaku went on."Kuroto was a shinobi operating under village authority."
This was not an accusation.
It was an indictment.
"You ordered action without transparency," Shikaku said. "You allowed authority to be used without accountability. And now you ask every clan—and every villager standing here—to shoulder the consequences."
Gasps rippled through the street.
"We will not fight the Uchiha for your silence," Shikaku said firmly. "And we will not let Konoha burn so that responsibility can be avoided."
"You want this village to survive?" Shikaku asked coldly.
"Then stop hiding behind authority—and give them an answer."
He gestured toward Toyoma and the Uchiha.
"Here. Now."
Hiruzen did not respond.
For the first time, the Hokage stood without words—not behind a desk, not behind law, but in front of his people.
Shikaku finished quietly.
"This is your decision to make, Hiruzen Sarutobi."
"Do not take the clans of Konoha to destruction for your benefit."
The weight of the village shifted.
All eyes returned to the Hokage.
Toyoma said nothing.
He didn't need to.
The choice—finally—belonged to someone else.
Hiruzen slowly lifted his gaze.
Not to Toyoma.
Not to Shikaku.
But to the people.
Villagers who once trusted him.Clan heads who once stood behind him.
One by one, he looked at them.
The Hyūga elders stood rigid—faces unreadable, eyes sharp with judgment.
The Aburame representatives remained silent as ever, but the absence of support spoke louder than words.
The Inuzuka did not bear their teeth.
The Akimichi did not shift forward. The Yamanaka—standing at the very centre of the incident—did not reach out.
No one did.
No one stepped beside him.
So this was it.
There was no anger in their eyes.
No loyalty either.
Only expectation.
They weren't looking to follow him anymore.
They were waiting for him to answer.
The realisation settled heavily in his chest.
He had lost them.
Not gradually.
Not over time.
But here—In the open street—In this single moment.
For decades, the title of Hokage had been enough.
A word.
A symbol.
A shield.
Now it meant nothing.
They no longer saw a leader.
Only a liability.
One clan head shifted slightly.
Then another.
Not toward him—
Away.
It was subtle.
Almost polite.
But unmistakable.
They were distancing themselves.
Hiruzen felt something inside him fracture.
Not loudly.
Not violently.
But completely.
His authority had not been challenged.
It had been withdrawn.
"You have heard us," Shikaku said calmly. "Give the Uchiha an answer. Do not drag the rest of us into this."
The words were measured.
Reasonable.
And merciless.
Hiruzen swallowed.
For the first time in years, he felt the urge to speak—not as Hokage, but as a man trying to defend himself.
And for the first time, he understood how meaningless that would be.
If he justified himself now, it would only confirm their judgment.
He looked at Toyoma again.
The Uchiha leader stood silently.
Waiting.
Certain.
This boy didn't need rebellion, Hiruzen realised bitterly.
He only needed time.
Time to let mistakes rot.
Time to let silence turn into guilt.
Time to let the village see.
His hands trembled slightly inside his sleeves.
He clenched them.
Stopped it.
The image he had built—The wise Hokage.The gentle grandfather.The man who carried the village's burden quietly—
It all collapsed at once.
Not because of the Uchiha.
But because the village no longer believed in it.
Everything he had tried to protect—
He had destroyed himself.
The street waited.
Not impatiently.
Not angrily.
They waited because they knew—
There was nowhere left for him to run.
Hiruzen took a slow breath.
The longest of his life.
When he finally spoke, his voice carried no authority.
Only weight.
"I will answer," he said.
The words echoed through the open street.
Not as a command.
But as a surrender.
Toyoma's eyes narrowed slightly.
Not in triumph.
In acknowledgement.
The clans did not relax.
They did not bow.
They only listened.
Because now—
The burden was his alone.
And everyone knew it.
Hiruzen took another breath.
Slower this time.
Measured.
When he spoke again, it was not the Hokage addressing subordinates.
It was a leader standing before judgment.
"I will not deny it," he said quietly."Actions were taken without full disclosure—even to this council—by a shadow division operating under village authority."
A ripple moved through the gathered villagers.
"I authorised measures meant to observe, contain, and reduce perceived uncertainty," Hiruzen continued."Those measures exceeded their mandate and caused harm to innocent Uchiha families."
He did not raise his voice.
He did not defend himself.
"I allowed that division to operate beyond accountability," he said."And I failed to stop that misuse in time."
That was the truth.
"I was wrong."
The word landed harder than any confession.
"I accept responsibility for what followed," he said."For the fear.
For the division.
For pushing this village to the brink through inaction."
Silence swallowed the street.
"I will not ask the clans—or the villagers—to bear the weight of my decisions any longer."
He turned fully toward Toyoma.
"The Uchiha were wronged by village actions," Hiruzen said."By authority exercised without oversight or accountability."
That line drew breath from more than a few throats.
"I will end those practices," Hiruzen declared."Effective immediately."
A pause.
Then the sacrifice.
"The division operating outside this council's authority—"Hiruzen's voice hardened."—will be dissolved."
The reaction was immediate.
Not loud.
But decisive.
"That authority returns to the village council," he said."Or it will not exist at all."
He bowed his head slightly.
Not to Toyoma.
To the village.
"This is my answer."
Danzo Shimura stood very still.
Too still.
No.
The word echoed sharply in his mind.
You can't do that.
His visible eye flicked—not to Hiruzen—
But to the clans.
They weren't shocked.
They weren't confused.
They were relieved.
That was when it hit him.
Hiruzen wasn't protecting him anymore.
For decades, silence had been their contract.
Hiruzen delayed.
Danzo acted.
Both pretended it served the village.
Now—
Hiruzen had chosen survival.
And Danzo had been priced into the cost.
Coward.
You let me become the blade—then dropped it when it cut too deep.
He felt it then.
Not fear.
Exposure.
The protection was gone.
No quiet veto.
No delayed investigation.
No old friendship stands between him and consequence.
The clans had heard enough.
And for the first time—
They were looking at him.
Not directly.
But knowingly.
Danzo's fingers curled inside his sleeve.
So this was how Hiruzen chose.
He would save the village—
By sacrificing him.
Very well.
If he were to fall—
He would not fall quietly.
Danzo turned slightly.
Already calculating.
Already preparing.
Because if Hiruzen would not shield him anymore—
Then Danzo would ensure the village had no choice but to rely on him again.
One way or another.
******
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