"I want everybody to see Konoha's spirit—this right here? This is me burning with the Will of Fire!!"
Makoto Uchiha's voice slammed off the Hokage Building's stone walls, bouncing back so loud everyone's eardrums buzzed. Even the little blue weeds in the corner shivered like they got the memo.
Itachi started pondering life at four. Makoto? He was arming himself with the Will of Fire at two and a half.
Danzo's one visible eye narrowed to a slit.
Makoto wasn't about to coddle this old fart. Everyone else tiptoed around the "Dark Side of the Ninja World," the shadow Hokage—not him.
His life motto? Screw swallowing your pride. Blame someone else.
Worst case? Die. Respawn, lay low, level up outside the village, then come back swinging with a vengeance.
With that, Makoto stood on his tiptoes, finger jabbing straight at Danzo's bandaged eye. "You open your mouth saying I was ordered to do this—are you saying the Will of Fire's fake? Just hot air for idiots?"
"I say you're the one disloyal to every Hokage and straight-up traitorous to Konoha!"
His words fired like a Gatling gun, leaving the surrounding ninjas' ears ringing.
"What kinda twisted heart says crap like that? What's your real angle with the village? Got beef with the First, Second, or Fourth Hokage too?"
That last line boomed so loud a flock of night birds exploded off the trees—black wings blotting half the sky, flapping like a drumline in the dead silence.
Makoto planted himself on the moral high ground of the Will of Fire and went full keyboard warrior, finger-pointing Danzo into oblivion.
Danzo's face went pitch black—darker than every pot he'd ever carried. The glare behind his bandages could've torched the gauze.
He felt every ninja's eyes glued to him: curious, stifling laughs, and a few Uchiha jerks not even hiding their smirks.
He'd lived decades, killed enough shinobi to fill two rivers, and nobody—except his old pal Hiruzen—had ever talked to him like this.
Hiruzen at least had the Hokage title to throw around. This prepubescent, born-evil Uchiha brat?!
Daring to shove the Will of Fire down his throat like Danzo couldn't pick up a blade anymore?
Fingers under the black robe clenched a kunai so hard his knuckles went frost-white. Sharp-tongued little demon. This one cannot live.
Every ninja in the courtyard was stunned.
Who didn't know Danzo was petty, grudge-holding, and vindictive? In Konoha, you'd rather piss off the Third Hokage than this guy. He'd actually ruin your life.
Super shady—back in the day, he'd rumor-mongered a Kage-level legend (White Fang) into suicide.
And now? This old creep was getting verbally bodied by a toddler.
The Uchiha Great Elder watched Makoto's back, cloudy eyes sparkling.
Kid wasn't just talented, gutsy, and quick-witted—he could talk. The Uchiha had suffered for generations because they couldn't.
At two and a half, he was already wielding the Will of Fire like sword and shield. A hundred times better than Fugaku's stick-up-the-butt attitude. Pour every resource into this kid.
Uchiha hardliners were shaking—trying not to laugh, Sharingan glowing brighter. Their stares at Danzo screamed serves you right.
Danzo's rep in Konoha was trash; in the Uchiha compound? Dog-level hated.
They came expecting a brawl, got a roast session instead.
Gunpowder still hung in the air, but now it smelled like comedy.
A half-grown kid was stabbing Danzo's heart with the Will of Fire like it was a kunai—and the old man couldn't even parry.
"You pissed on the Third Hokage's statue—" Danzo's voice scraped out like rusted metal.
"I'm little!" Makoto cut him off, zero shame. "Holding it in is hard! You telling me you never wet the bed as a kid?"
Danzo nearly passed out. Bloodshot veins crammed his visible eye—he was one trigger away from awakening a Sharingan. Chakra surged under his robe, dropping the temperature a few degrees.
Feeling that murderous glare and icy air, Makoto shivered. Man, I wanna slap him silly with both hands. He preferred fists over words.
But he was still weak. Gotta level up fast.
Danzo dared glare at him today? Tomorrow he'd send assassins. Thousand-day thief-proofing? Nah. Find a big bridge, seal this geezer for good.
Wish my quest reward was S-rank—Reaper Death Seal.
Sneak the hand signs, summon Death, become the Death God Jinchuriki. Anyone disrespects? Permanent seal. Go hang with the Fourth.
Strength? Irrelevant. Love who you love—extra.
Makoto shrugged. "Yeah, peeing on the Third was wrong. I apologize. But everything else? Pure Will of Fire!"
"You—" Danzo started.
"I said sorry! What more do you want? Stop being a baby!" Makoto raised a brow. "Old man, have some honor. Be the bigger person."
"I, Makoto Uchiha, own my actions. That pee? Mine. Felt great. If you think I'm wrong, come kill me anytime."
"If the Third's petty enough to hold it against a kid, I'll pay with my life!"
Words still echoing, Makoto yanked a pre-prepped kunai from his jacket—cold steel flashed, aimed straight at his own chest. Zero hesitation.
"MAKOTO!!"
Itachi's voice cracked like a whip. He blurred forward, a black streak, grabbing Makoto's wrist just as the tip kissed skin.
Knuckles white, veins popping on the back of his hand.
Gasps rippled through the crowd—ANBU included. This kid was actually gonna seppuku to apologize.
Hiruzen sighed around his pipe, smoke blooming. Watching the kid's antics…
Yeah, he's just nuts. Doesn't value his own life. Not a puppet.
"Dismissed." Hiruzen tapped ash onto the ground. "Troubled times. Don't cluster here. ANBU will investigate later."
He reached to pat Makoto's head—kid dodged slick. Hiruzen's hand hung mid-air like he was holding an invisible brick. No biggie—decades as Hokage, seen worse.
He cleared his throat, slow and sage: "Wherever leaves dance, fire burns."
"The fire's shadow lights the village, sprouting new leaves. Konoha's future… is in your hands."
Makoto rolled his eyes hard. About to roast in my head—then saw Itachi and Shisui tearing up, fists clenched, breathing heavy like they just got pumped full of steroids.
Bro, is this normal? He flipped a mental middle finger. Couldn't compute their brainrot.
The circus finally wrapped. As everyone dispersed, Makoto suddenly belts it to the whole crowd:
"If one day I tragically get eighteen kunai in the back and 'suicide'…"
"Or trip down stairs and die, get smashed by potted plants, drown in a puddle, choke on water, choke on rice, get mosquito-bit to death in my sleep…"
He rattled off over a hundred ridiculous deaths in one breath. Danzo's face went green.
"Don't overthink it! Totally unrelated to the Hokage Advisor's goons. Definitely not him."
"And absolutely not quietly approved by the Third."
Then Makoto straightened like a board, chest puffed, face solemn, voice ringing like a bell, glowing like he was dipped in gold:
"I trust Konoha's great, just leadership will protect this little sprout. They won't hold today's tiny prank against me."
They couldn't guilt-trip Makoto—he had no shame, and wouldn't fake it.
But he could guilt-trip them—they had to pretend to be honorable.
Even an idiot got the message. Every eye snapped to Danzo and Hiruzen like laser beams.
Air froze solid. Breathing got quiet.
Danzo's face was dark enough to write calligraphy with. Knuckles cracked as he crushed a kunai in his sleeve—black shards clattered out, rolling across the ground.
Ninjas in front noticed. A few frowned.
Danzo's own guards backed up several steps—scared he'd snap and friendly-fire.
Hiruzen puffed his pipe, smoke hiding his eyes. Only his fingers tightened—ash snowed onto his Hokage robes…