The Hokage's residence sat quietly behind a veil of drifting leaves, the afternoon sun painting its wooden frame gold. Smoke curled from the eaves—faint, fragrant, unmistakably from Hiruzen's pipe. A signal the Third was home and in one of his contemplative moods.
Danzo—or the man living in his flesh—stepped toward the entrance with measured, steady steps. Every movement had to be calculated. Too tense and Hiruzen would assume suspicion; too relaxed and he'd think something was wrong.
Two ANBU stood at the door, masks impassive. Their chakra signatures flickered—controlled, professional. They bowed silently and stepped back, letting him enter.
The interior was calm and warm. Scrolls lined the shelves. A pot simmered over low flame. The scent of roasted tea leaves filled the air.
The Hokage sat on a cushion before a low table, steam rising from two cups he had already prepared. His pipe rested beside him, embers glowing faintly.
Hiruzen Sarutobi looked older here than he had in the council chamber—more human, less of the imposing figurehead. The lines of age carved deep into his face. Yet those eyes… sharp as ever.
"Come in, Danzo," he said softly. "Sit."
Danzo lowered himself onto the cushion opposite him. His bandaged hands rested on his knees—symbol of secrets and sins he had not yet committed in this timeline.
Hiruzen studied him carefully.
"You seem different today."
A dangerous statement.
Danzo inhaled the steam from the tea to buy a heartbeat. "Age changes a man," he replied. "Perspective shifts."
Hiruzen raised a brow. "Since when have you cared for perspective?"
He needed to tread this tightrope with precision. Danzo was known for ambition, for ruthlessness, for a singular obsession with strengthening Konoha. But he wasn't stupid. If the man suddenly turned into an angel, alarm bells would ring everywhere.
"I haven't lost my vigilance," Danzo said. "But I've realized… stubbornness alone cannot lead the village."
Hiruzen's eyes softened with something like surprise—maybe even relief. "You speak of cooperation?"
"Cooperation when necessary," Danzo countered. "Control when required."
The Hokage chuckled. "There it is. Only a fool would expect you to turn entirely gentle."
Danzo lifted his cup and sipped. The bitterness grounded him. Hiruzen waited in silence for him to continue.
"What is it you wanted to speak about?" Danzo asked.
Hiruzen leaned back. "Konoha stands at a crossroads. Our younger clans are restless. The Uchiha in particular."
Danzo's pulse quickened—but outwardly, he remained composed.
"You've seen the increased tension?" Hiruzen said. "Their police force authority is swelling, but resentment grows. There are whispers—dangerous ones. If you have any insight, I am willing to hear it."
This was unexpected.
In canon, Hiruzen rarely asked Danzo's advice directly unless pressured. But this timeline was still early—their relationship had not yet deteriorated as far.
He had a chance.
A chance to shift history without destroying trust.
He bowed his head slightly. "The Uchiha are proud. Caged pride turns to anger."
Hiruzen sighed. "I feared you'd say that."
"But," Danzo added, "a wound ignored festers. If you continue pretending their resentment will fade, you condemn the village."
Hiruzen met his gaze. "And what do you propose? Surveillance? Restrictions?"
In Danzo's old mind, yes.
But he had lived one lifetime already. He knew where that would lead: massacre, trauma, Sasuke's darkness, Itachi's suffering, and a village weakened by its own decisions.
He exhaled slowly.
"No," he said. "Not yet. Perhaps not at all."
Hiruzen's eyes widened.
Danzo leaned forward. "Promote communication. Involve them in village affairs. Give them tasks that matter. Validate their role."
Hiruzen looked stunned. "You're advising diplomacy?"
"Strategic diplomacy." Danzo met his eyes with sharp clarity. "You cannot bully the Uchiha into loyalty. But you cannot ignore them either."
The Hokage stroked his beard thoughtfully. "This is… unlike you, old friend."
Danzo's gaze darkened. "I have not forgotten the cost of past wars. I will not let internal conflict tear us apart."
Silence settled between them like a fine layer of dust.
Then Hiruzen smiled—a soft, weary smile. "Then perhaps we still understand each other."
The system chimed quietly:
> Mission Update: Anchor Yourself
Progress: 70% – Establish political alignment
Hiruzen's trust: +1
Danzo hid his satisfaction behind another sip of tea.
Hiruzen leaned forward. "One more thing. Your Root operatives… You are no longer using them for covert actions against my direct orders. Correct?"
Danzo froze.
He had only woken up this morning. He had no idea what Danzo had done the day before, let alone the last three months.
This was a trap.
Hiruzen's expression remained neutral, but his chakra flared subtly—measuring Danzo's reaction.
Danzo set his cup down with deliberate calm.
"Root is officially disbanded," he said. "And I have respected that."
Not entirely a lie. He personally had done nothing yet.
Hiruzen exhaled. Relief softened his shoulders. "Good. I don't want us to come to odds again."
Danzo nodded. "Neither do I."
Their eyes locked—two old men, two old ideologies. But for the first time in years, Hiruzen seemed willing to believe in the possibility of cooperation.
"Stay for dinner?" the Hokage offered suddenly. "We can speak further."
Danzo shook his head. "I have matters to attend to. But another time."
Hiruzen smiled. "Very well. My door remains open."
Danzo rose, bowed, and exited.
As he stepped into the cool evening air, the system chimed again:
> Mission Complete: Anchor Yourself
Reward:
• Political stability increased
• Hiruzen's suspicion reduced
• New Mission unlocked: "Roots of Reform"
Objective:
Evaluate the current Root structure.
Decide whether to reform, downsize, or expand.
Warning:
Any decision will have long-term consequences.
He walked down the stone steps toward the village.
Reforming Root… That wouldn't be easy. The organization was built on indoctrination and control. Even now, agents waited for orders, living in shadows carved by Danzo's will.
If he reformed Root too suddenly, the agents might crack mentally.
If he didn't reform at all, he'd become the tyrant Danzo once was.
He needed a plan.
A long-term one.
But first—
A faint rustle reached his ears.
Danzo turned. A small figure hid behind a training post—white hair, sharp eyes, a tiny Root mask dangling from their hand.
A child.
A Root trainee.
The boy froze as their eyes met.
Slowly, Danzo crouched to eye level. "Name."
The child hesitated. "C–Code name Kino, sir."
He nodded. "Why are you here?"
"I was assigned to monitor your return route," Kino said. "To ensure no threats approached."
Not an assassination. Just misallocation of manpower. But it revealed something crucial:
Root agents were still active—still following the old Danzo's standing orders.
He hadn't even begun to change anything, and already the consequences of the old regime pressed down on him.
He placed a hand on the boy's shoulder.
"You've done your duty," he said. "Return to the base and rest."
The boy blinked—confused. Rest was not an instruction Root trainees often heard.
"Yes… Danzo-sama."
As the boy vanished into the trees, Danzo exhaled.
He needed to see Root for himself.
Tonight.
───
The moon rose slowly, painting Konoha silver. The village slept, unaware of the shifting tides in its shadow.
Danzo approached the sealed entrance of the Root base—old, hidden under layers of genjutsu and barrier seals. His fingers traced a familiar sequence, and the stone wall opened silently.
Cold air rushed out, carrying the scent of metal and old earth.
He stepped inside.
Torches flickered to life as he walked. The tunnels were long, twisting, lined with carved training rooms and armories. Echoes of distant footsteps bounced along the stone.
He reached the central chamber.
Dozens of masked operatives knelt in rows, heads bowed the moment he entered.
Their voices rose as one:
"Danzo-sama."
Their loyalty was absolute.
Terrifyingly absolute.
He scanned the room—young adults, older veterans, some barely teenagers. All with the same blank eyes, the same posture of unwavering obedience.
His stomach twisted.
This wasn't an army.
This was a machine.
A machine built by