Dusk slid down the trees, pouring gold over the Death Forest. In the thinning light, a lone shadow stretched long across the clearing.
"Handled?" The ANBU on perimeter watch relaxed the moment he recognized the figure. He tipped his chin, folding his arms with a grin. "Looks like you enjoyed yourself, Owl."
"You flatter me, Vice-Commander Linjiao."
Bathed in sunset, Sogetsu looked gilded at the edges. He smiled lightly. "I just… executed the Hokage's will."
"Well done," Linjiao said, warmth slipping into his tone. "The Hokage has had his eye on you for a while. Don't let us down."
"Oh?" Sogetsu tilted his head, a hint of puzzlement. "What do you mean?"
"Heh. Can't say. Rules." Linjiao clapped a hand to his shoulder, pressing just enough to make the weight felt. "But there'll be a pleasant surprise soon. I believe in you. Uchiha by blood, fire in the heart."
Ah yes—Fire's Will. My favorite hymn.
Sogetsu put on a show of surprise, then nodded. "I won't disappoint the Hokage."
"You've worked all day. Go rest, Owl," Linjiao said, kindness peeking through the mask. "Leave the cleanup to ANBU."
"In your hands, Vice-Commander."
Sogetsu never turned down free labor.
"Sleep well. Tomorrow brings good news." Linjiao's parting words hung meaningful in the air as he left.
"Good news, hm…" Sogetsu pushed his glasses up, a glow flickering in his eyes. "Shikaku and Inoichi did move quickly."
The Hokage's right and left hands hadn't exactly greeted him warmly at first. Partly the clan he wore on his back; partly… politics.
Look now. That pivot. Could a man ask for a better heel-turn?
No need to think hard: Sarutobi Hiruzen had given the nod. Why else would the Hokage's own shadow show him such a friendly face?
He walked, and his shadow stretched. Thoughts turned.
Hatake Sakumo's rising prestige had begun to warp the balance of succession. Sarutobi didn't want tradition broken—Hokage begets Hokage. So he tried to dampen White Fang's glow.
He hadn't counted on a darker fact: the human heart resists shepherds. In the gloom, Shimura Danzo, long coveting the hat, saw a chance to erase a rival. Without sharing notes, each dug his pit—and a single plan to topple White Fang took shape.
Guided coincidence. A nudge here, a nudge there.
On the bright stage, Hiruzen and the "upper council" pressed down; in the alleys, Danzo's Root clawed up. Pressure from above, jeers from below. White Fang misunderstood, pinned the storm on his own celebrity, and—seeking to protect little Kakashi, to prove loyalty—chose steel and ritual. He cut his belly.
The shock left hairline cracks between Leaf and Root. Each suspected the other's hand. They kept the fragile balance anyway.
Fragile things need only a touch.
A letter from Tsunade sparked a fresh misunderstanding in Hiruzen. Balance must be managed. He moved to clip Danzo's wings.
But something else spooked him—the Uchiha. Ambition, old as the clan. He needed a leash. An Uchiha raised outside the clan's warm center; an orphan; a boy who mouthed the Will of Fire with convincing sincerity and wore kindness like a badge.
Uchiha Sogetsu.
A test, then. Could this "goodness" be a mask?
Under orders, Nara Shikaku and Yamanaka Inoichi slid the pretext of the Chūnin Exams over everyone's eyes and slipped into Sogetsu's mind.
They found… crystal sky. Blue to the horizon. No clouds, no grit. Pure.
Shikaku exhaled. Inoichi nodded. Hiruzen's probe returned what he wanted: trust. A key to control the Uchiha. One day, in some future hour, he would turn that key.
It wasn't coincidence. It was curation.
If you can't seize fate, seize the ones who carry it.
He passed through the evening crowd, and people seemed not to see him. The flow of bodies parted as if nudged by an invisible palm, a clear lane opening without a shove. He walked like he was outside the world, a slice of quiet in a noisy street.
Fun, isn't it?
In a red-curtained theater, the audience laughs and jeers, certain they've read the script, while actors stride and die on their marks. And yet—among the actors before the curtain—there sits… a spectator.
He watches coldly. He sees the crowd and the cast. He is in the play, and he is not.
And the script continues—exactly as he planned.
"I can't wait," he said softly, lifting his face to the round moon. "You're up soon… Uchiha Madara."
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