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The pipe crackled — tssc… tssc… — and the smoke rose in a lazy spiral, like a tired snake crawling toward the ceiling. Hiruzen exhaled another slow, measured puff. Fuuu… The bitter taste lingered, metallic and old, like cold gunpowder. For him, the conversation was over; for the other elders, the storm had just begun.
— So… — Koharu cleared her throat, her thin voice slicing through the silence. — What, exactly, are we going to tell the other clans?
Homura adjusted his glasses — clinc — the reflection on the lenses made his eyes look like polished stones. — The Council will want answers in the daylight, not whispers in the dark.
Hiruzen didn't answer right away. He heard them, but his mind wandered through the empty streets of the Uchiha district — that heavy iron smell, the ghost of incense, the knowledge that someone had beaten them at their own game. Tick-tock. The clock in his head was counting backward.
The door slid open with a soft shrrp. An ANBU entered, kneeled, never lifting his mask.
— Report — Hiruzen said, voice made of stone.
— Hokage-sama… — The cat mask didn't tremble, but the air around it did. — We searched the entire district. Everything's… gone. Everything. Safes, cabinets, scrolls, records, even the library at the Naka Shrine. Not even dust remains, sir. It's as if someone erased time itself. — A pause. — We also found Uchiha Sasuke in his home, dazed. Eyes empty. Morino Ibiki says, "A clean job."
"Clean job." The words cut deeper than kunai. Hiruzen's jaw clenched around the pipe. Tsc. Itachi had done his work completely… or was it Madara? The name rolled through the room like muted thunder.
— Dismissed — Hiruzen ordered with a tilt of his chin.
Puf. The ANBU vanished, swallowed by the walls.
Koharu scoffed, disbelief dripping from every word: — Itachi robbed the village from inside the village… and took the dead with him?
— He robbed us, not them — Danzō snapped, palm slamming the table — BANG! — His bandaged face twisted with fury. — Those eyes were Konoha's safeguard! You should've given me full authority, Hiruzen!
Hiruzen turned slowly, the gray in his eyes sharp as flint. Itachi's warning echoed in his head — the Akatsuki, ten S-rank members, and a masked man calling himself Madara… The image of Biwako, the night of the Nine-Tails… the scar that never healed burned again.
— No — he said simply, voice low but blade-sharp. — I am the Hokage. And you will stay away from the boy.
Danzō shot to his feet — SCRAA! — the chair screeched behind him. His bandages rustled like dry leaves. — You'll regret this.
— Maybe — Hiruzen murmured. — But not today.
The man in shadows turned sharply and stormed out — PAM! — the door protesting the blow. Silence lingered, heavy and metallic.
Koharu folded her arms. — We need a cover story. We can't tell the clan heads that the Uchihas were massacred and robbed in the same night. That would set a dangerous precedent.
— I agree — Homura said, tapping his pen on the pad — tic-tic-tic. — The Hokage's plan — he nodded toward Hiruzen — makes sense: leave a small inheritance to the surviving heir, some fire and genjutsu techniques, and declare the rest under village protection until the clan can be formally restored.
Hiruzen inhaled, slowly. The plan sounded right — on the surface. Beneath it, it was quicksand. Politics always was: walking through the swamp pretending it's solid ground.
— One billion ryō — he repeated, cementing the number. — On paper. In reality, a ten-thousand ryō monthly stipend. The rest stays under "administration." And guard the boy.
Koharu frowned. — Guard or collar?
— Protection — Hiruzen corrected with a tired smile. — Hana Inuzuka, Yugao Uzuki, Anko Mitarashi. Official escorts. Hmmm. — He puffed the pipe again — tssc — and smoke coiled above them like a lazy serpent. — And perhaps… social exposure. The boy can't fall into isolation. Nor can he believe he owns the village.
Homura noted everything down, the scratching pen — tic-tic — the only sound. Outside, Konoha was waking up: piu-piu birds, a shopkeeper unlocking the gate — rctch — water running through old pipes — glup-glup.
— The Council of Clans — Koharu returned to the point — Emergency meeting at noon?
— Yes — Hiruzen said, eyes fixed on a wall that wasn't a wall but memory. — We'll face the village. And no cracks in the mask. Understood?
Both nodded. Cloc.
The corridor to the infirmary smelled of alcohol and clean sheets. toc—toc—toc. Hiruzen's footsteps were soft but heavy, each one a hammer. Yamanaka Inoichi greeted him with a stiff nod.
— Hokage-sama. The boy's stable. Physically strong. Mentally… — he hesitated — shattered. A genjutsu of catastrophic design. Deep, refined, cruel. Itachi knew exactly what he was doing.
Through the glass, Hiruzen saw Sasuke lying motionless, his chest rising to the machine's rhythm — beep… beep… — eyes fixed on nothing. A furnace turned to ash, thought the Hokage. Not pain. Something colder. Emptiness.
— Keep him away from interrogations — Hiruzen said. — No Ibiki. No mental pressure. Silence, food, and routine. And… capable caretakers.
— Yes, sir.
Hiruzen touched the glass. It was cold — the same kind of cold that comes from remembering youth and all its broken promises. The boy behind that pane was a dam — alone, holding back a flood of names: Itachi, Akatsuki, Madara. Until the wall cracked.
— Bring Hana Inuzuka — he murmured. — And tell the ANBU: Yugao and Anko stay on standby. Absolute discretion.
— Understood.
He left before the silence could follow him out.
Under a shadowed eave, two Root ANBU masks watched as Danzō walked toward the village gates — a dark cloud in motion. Fuu— The wind tugged at his cloak. He didn't look back. He didn't have to. He knew eyes followed him — or hunted him.
— He'll return — Homura said softly beside Hiruzen, standing atop the Administration roof. The sun crept over the walls, a pale disc sharp as a shuriken. — With a longer knife.
— I'm counting on it — Hiruzen replied. The Hokage's hat felt heavier than ever. — And I'm counting on him being blinder than he thinks.
His gaze drifted toward the horizon. Far away, an orange hue flickered — faint, almost like a scent. A strange foreshadowing. He ignored it. Politics first.
— Prepare the Council room — Hiruzen said to no one in particular.
Brem-brem-brem. The bell summoned the clans. The chamber was dark wood and old paper. Hiashi Hyūga, Shikaku Nara, Chōza Akimichi, Shibi Aburame… eyes that measured everything and forgot nothing. Koharu and Homura took their seats. Hiruzen entered last, each step a prayer and a verdict.
— Gentlemen — he began, and the murmurs died. — The tragedy of last night wounded us all. The Uchiha Clan… — he drew breath, heavy as stone — was destroyed by treason. Uchiha Itachi confessed to the massacre and claimed he was assisted by a masked man calling himself "Uchiha Madara." — The air cracked. — This man is linked to an S-rank organization of ten members. Our spies call them the Akatsuki.
Silence. Only the tok-tok of wood swelling in the heat.
— Regarding the clan's assets — Hiruzen continued — the village will ensure their preservation. A portion will go to the sole surviving heir, Uchiha Sasuke: sufficient funds for training and basic jutsu scrolls. The rest remains under the Hokage's custody until the clan can be safely rebuilt.
Hiashi tilted his head — the kind of nod that meant "I'm listening, but I'll remember this." Shikaku's eyes half-closed, his mind assembling puzzles no one else saw. Chōza frowned; Shibi didn't move. Perhaps a single beetle did, inside his cloak.
— Transparency — Shikaku finally said. — We'll need random audits. No cross-suspicion during grief.
— Of course — Hiruzen agreed. — Auditors from the Nara, Hyūga, and Aburame clans. With limited access to records. No one wants to turn mourning into a marketplace.
— And the boy? — Hiashi asked. — Who watches him?
— Inuzuka Hana, medical jōnin and tracker. Yugao Uzuki, ANBU. Anko Mitarashi, Tokubetsu Jōnin. Training, routine, restraint. He's both a child and a border. We'll treat him as both.
Hiashi nodded once. Shikaku scribbled something invisible. Koharu knitted the silence back together; Homura tied the last loose ends with a simple gesture.
— For Konoha — Hiruzen concluded. — For all clans. For the peace we must pretend to have until we can build it.
The meeting ended with the rustle of robes — shff… shff… — and the weight of silence that followed each step.
That afternoon, the Hokage's office smelled of reheated tea and fresh ink. Ploc. Stamps fell one after another: the one-billion-ryō transfer — on paper —, guardian authorizations, medical access, auditor permits. Bureaucracy, when it wanted, moved like fire.
— Hana — Hiruzen called quietly.
She entered, confident, her smile showing the edge of a tamed wolf.
— Hokage-sama.
— You'll lead the boy's protection detail — he said plainly. — Keep the trail cold, the noise low, his routine steady. He needs a dog near his heart, not a wolf at his back. Understood?
— Understood. Woof. — The humor was small, the loyalty firm.
— Yugao and Anko follow your lead. If he sneezes, you're already holding a tissue. If he cries, tea. If he bites, bite back — he smirked faintly — but gently.
— Yes, sir.
— One more thing — Hiruzen set the pipe down — clinc. — Itachi placed a genjutsu on him. If either Itachi or the masked man appears… you run. You grab the boy and run. Konoha will come for you. Understood?
— Understood.
She left. The office grew larger and emptier.
Atop the Hokage Monument, the wind whistled — fiuuu — tugging at Hiruzen's cloak. He looked at the carved faces — the First, the Second, the Fourth… and in memory, Biwako's. The night of the Nine-Tails flashed in a single BANG! and faded. He breathed. Haaa…
— Madara… — he whispered. — If it's truly you… or whoever wears your mask… I still know how to play this game.
Below, Konoha gleamed like a bowl of timid lights. Somewhere, Sasuke's machine kept beeping — beep… beep… — writing the rhythm of survival. Somewhere, Danzō sharpened plans like blades. Itachi stitched guilt into his skin. And faintly, like the scent of orange peel, that strange omen still lingered.
Hiruzen put the pipe back to his lips. tssc… Sparks caught, smoke curled, and the old man thought of the boy with the empty eyes — a vault the village would try to open with kindness, control, and careful starvation.
— Before war — he murmured to no one — comes accounting.
He let the wind carry the words away, signing the deal with the sky.
By nightfall, Inoichi's last message arrived: the genjutsu holds; the boy hasn't come back inside yet. Hiruzen folded the paper and tucked it into his sleeve, beside the shadow that never left him. Clac. The roulette of thoughts kept spinning — choices, debts, illusions, gains.
When he turned off the lights — click — Konoha exhaled with him. Night fell with a soft shhh, and the village, pretending peace, settled like a fox learning to sleep with one eye open.
Tomorrow, there would be more councils, more seals, more theater. But for now, everything was in place: the boy watched over by three women with claws, a billion ryō in invisible chains, a story polished for the public eye. And in the thin line where shadow meets light, an old man who still knew — for better or worse — how to move the next piece on the board.