After Qianyu left, Shisui Uchiha stood still, his expression grim. One sentence echoed in his mind, over and over.
'If it were just me alone, could I target the Uchiha clan like this?'
Shisui was no fool. From those words, he guessed the truth. Qianyu's actions weren't personal initiative. He had authorization.
And the only ones who could grant that authorization… were Konoha's high command.
A bitter, mirthless smile twisted Shisui's lips.
He'd always believed there was still time. That as long as Konoha hadn't turned its full gaze upon the Uchiha, things could be salvaged. Relationships could be mended.
He was wrong.
Konoha had already begun. And Qianyu was their chosen instrument.
"Still time," Shisui whispered to the empty air, his voice firming with resolve. "There has to be. The Hokage only has Qianyu-san targeting us… not a full purge. There's a path. I will find it."
His eyes hardened, unwavering.
The war ground on.
Then, news from the frontlines.
The Uchiha clan head, Masaki Uchiha, had fallen in battle.
His son, Fugaku Uchiha, was named the new clan leader.
Hearing the report, Qianyu stared into the campfire before him. A faint smile touched his lips.
Soon. Very soon, the Uchiha's position in Konoha would change irrevocably.
Time bled on. The scales at Kikyō Mountain slowly, inevitably, tipped in Konoha's favor.
Fighting on home soil was an advantage that multiplied. The longer the combined Sand and Cloud forces were bogged down, the greater their losses grew. Konoha's strength, in turn, solidified.
Another month passed.
The Sand, unable to sustain the attrition any longer, broke the alliance. They withdrew, retreating to the Wind Country.
Seeing the cause lost, the Cloud forces had no choice. They disengaged, returning to the Lightning Country.
The war was over.
A war that had spanned years. A war Qianyu had fought since his youth, now ending as he turned twenty-three.
All shinobi were recalled to Konoha.
When Qianyu returned with Kakashi, the village streets were a sea of people. Cheering, laughing, celebrating the end, the victory.
The festive atmosphere washed over the two of them, leaving no mark. They walked through the noise with cold, detached eyes.
Then, in the crowd, Qianyu saw her. Kakashi saw her too, the ice in his expression cracking into a faint, real smile.
"Kushina."
"Master's wife."
Kushina Uzumaki beamed at them. "Welcome home."
Back at the house, Kushina talked excitedly, words tumbling out. She recounted everything she'd seen, every skirmish she'd been part of during the massive campaign.
Her battle experience wasn't insignificant, but it had been in smaller clashes. This was her first full-scale war. The adrenaline, the scale of it—it left a deep imprint.
The next day, Hiruzen Sarutobi summoned the entire village to the Hokage Tower.
The street below was packed, a living, breathing mass of people.
On the tower's rooftop stood Hiruzen, Danzō, Koharu Utatane, Homura Mitokado, Orochimaru, and Jiraiya. They looked down upon the village they led.
Hiruzen's face was alight with a triumphant smile. He raised his voice, amplified by chakra.
"This war, which has lasted nearly a decade, is now over! Konohagakure stands victorious! This victory is the result of every single person's efforts! On behalf of the village, I thank you all for your sacrifices!"
A roar of approval shook the air.
"Now," Hiruzen continued, "Konoha will hold a grand celebration! A celebration of our perseverance, our effort, and our ultimate triumph!"
He spread his arms. "Where the leaves of Konoha dance, the fire of the Will of Fire burns eternal! That flame will continue to illuminate our village and give rise to new, budding leaves!"
"I declare the victory celebration… begun!"
The street erupted. Cheers, applause, a thunderous wave of sound and joy.
Two groups stood apart from the euphoria.
The first was Qianyu and Kakashi. Their faces were blank masks.
The second was the Uchiha clan.
By all rights, the Uchiha should have been the war's greatest heroes. But their arrogance on the battlefield, their heavy-handed tactics… and later, Qianyu's deliberate targeting, sending wave after wave of them into the deadliest charges… their glory had been bled away.
Now, a perception hung in the air: the Uchiha contribution hadn't been that significant.
It festered. Every Uchiha present seethed with resentment. Their collective gaze, hot with hatred, fixed on one man.
Kakashi's voice was dry, amused. "Sensei. Looks like a lot of people really hate you."
Qianyu didn't need to look to feel the weight of those stares. "Just the helpless rage of the incompetent," he said dismissively.
Kushina, caught up in the celebration, blinked. "Huh? Who are you talking about?"
"Nobody important," Qianyu said with a light smile.
Nearby, conversations drifted over.
"Orochimaru-sama was amazing!" "Right? He contributed the most to this war, no question." "The Hokage is getting old. He'll probably retire soon. Orochimaru-sama will be the next one, right?" "Absolutely. No one is more suited than Orochimaru-sama!"
Kakashi listened, then remarked, "Orochimaru-sama's reputation is immense. Respected by everyone. The Fourth Hokage is practically decided, isn't it?"
Qianyu's eyes were on Orochimaru, standing tall on the rooftop. "No," he said simply. "He won't be Hokage."
Kakashi was surprised. "How can you be so sure? Do you think Lord Jiraiya has a better chance?"
Qianyu's gaze shifted to Hiruzen Sarutobi. "It's about factions."
"Factions? But Orochimaru-sama is part of the Hokage's line, isn't he?"
Qianyu shook his head. "Orochimaru-sensei once served in Root. Officially, his position is still listed in Root's archives. Strictly speaking, he's not purely of the Hokage's faction. And…"
He left the rest unsaid.
And Hiruzen has started to notice Orochimaru's… peculiarities.
The celebration held no interest for Qianyu or Kakashi. They left early, returning home with Kushina.
In the kitchen, Kushina hummed a happy tune, a cookbook open in her hands as she planned dinner.
Her mood was bright, effervescent. The war was over. Qianyu wouldn't be deployed constantly anymore. He'd be home. He'd be here.
Every time he'd left for the front, a knot of worry had tightened in her chest, never fully loosening until he returned.
Now, that fear was gone. The constant, low-grade dread for his safety had finally, blessedly, evaporated.
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