(Present – Third Hokage's Office, two months later)
Toph was already there when the door opened.
Not in a corner.
Not on the ceiling.
Integrated into the very structure itself, motionless, as if he had always been part of the room. The Hokage's office was a point of constant weight, layers of decisions piled atop one another across generations. The earth beneath that chamber never truly rested.
Hiruzen Sarutobi stood by the window, his pipe unlit between his fingers.
Danzō Shimura remained to one side, straight-backed, leaning on his cane. His weight never shifted. It never did.
"The jinchūriki is still unstable," Danzō said. "Sending him outside the village is unwise."
"It is inevitable," Hiruzen replied. "He cannot remain contained forever."
Before Danzō could answer, the door opened again.
Tazuna entered with weary steps. His back was hunched, but not from age. The ground betrayed him: he walked like someone who expected to be followed.
He presented his mission in a firm voice—too firm. Protection during the construction of a bridge in the Land of Waves. Common bandits. Minimal risk.
When he finished, silence stretched through the room.
That was when Toph spoke.
"He's leaving something out."
His voice came from nowhere—and everywhere at once. Low. Direct.
Tazuna turned sharply, searching for the source of the voice. Danzō didn't move. Hiruzen didn't even blink.
"What do you sense?" the Hokage asked, without looking around.
"His weight doesn't match his words," Toph replied. "He doesn't walk like someone afraid of simple bandits. He walks like someone who's already been found."
Danzō smiled faintly.
"Interesting."
Tazuna opened his mouth to protest, but Hiruzen raised a hand.
"Even so," the Hokage said, "the mission will proceed."
Danzō's smile deepened.
"Then there will be observers."
Hiruzen nodded, weary.
"No interference," he clarified. "Only if the situation deviates."
Toph didn't answer.
He didn't need to.
He felt the shift in the room's weight: Hiruzen's resignation, Danzō's contained satisfaction. And beneath it all, the bridge builder's steps—heavier now that the lie had been exposed.
The decision had already been made.
The earth beneath the office did not relax.
Toph slipped away before the meeting ended—not through the door. The earth always had other ways.
(Present – Outskirts of the Hidden Leaf Village)
Toph arrived before they did.
Not through speed, but through route. Konoha's perimeter was full of paths no one used—harder ground, less forgiving, marked by years of ANBU footsteps that left no trace.
From there, he felt them approaching.
Four distinct presences.
The first walked as if the world should move out of his way. The ground protested beneath him, but did not yield. There was too much determination for that. The girl adjusted her pace, still uncertain, unconsciously mirroring the others. The third glided forward, leaving barely a shadow on the soil.
And the last.
Toph frowned slightly.
Kakashi's weight was steady. Too steady for someone relaxed. Every step was measured—not to hide, but to avoid correcting. As if he were refusing to intervene too early.
So you've started, Toph thought.
The team stopped at the gate.
The crossing was unmistakable.
The village boundary wasn't marked by walls, but by a change in the earth. Inside, the ground was forgiving. Outside, it was not.
Toph felt the exact moment they left it behind.
The bridge builder walked among them. His steps were the worst. Not because they were clumsy, but because they were tense. There was no relief in them. Only contained urgency.
You're still lying, Toph thought. Even now.
The team resumed their march.
Naruto talked. A lot. Sakura answered. Sasuke stayed silent.
Kakashi didn't look back.
Only then did Toph move.
He didn't follow the main road. He chose a parallel path, more irregular, where the ground punished even the smallest mistakes. A path that forced one to listen.
ANBU do not escort.
ANBU observe.
Though sometimes, observing was worse than intervening.
The team's rhythm was still uneven. None of them sensed what lay ahead.
Toph did.
Further on, the terrain changed. It grew damp. Malleable. Two additional presences waited in stagnant water, chakra sharpened like hidden blades.
This ground doesn't forgive, he thought. And they're already being watched.
He kept moving.
Invisible.
Silent.
Present.
Behind them, Konoha remained still.
Ahead, the earth began to tell another story.