The Hokage's office smelled of ink, paper, and sleepless nights.
Ryuji sat behind the heavy desk, the hat set aside, elbows braced as a dull ache hammered behind his eyes. Stacks of reports covered the tabletop like miniature cliffs—troop movements, border frictions, shifting alliances.
And three words that kept appearing, no matter which document he opened:
Mist. Rock. Cloud.
Each village was tightening its grip, testing its blades, looking for the first excuse to strike.
The Third Great Ninja War wasn't a rumor anymore. It was the next breath the shinobi world was about to take.
Ryuji exhaled slowly and forced himself not to crush the pen in his fingers.
He had been in this world long enough to know what came next.
After transmigrating into Naruto's world—and gaining abilities he still couldn't fully explain—he hadn't wasted a single day. Training until his chakra pathways burned. Grinding ninjutsu until muscle memory replaced thought. Learning medicine, combat, and battlefield logic under one of the harshest teachers alive.
Tsunade.
He had bled for her approval. Earned it. Then used everything he learned to pry fate open with both hands.
He had saved Uzumaki Kushina when she was supposed to die.
And after that, step by step, Ryuji put himself where the world would have to acknowledge him—until the title of Hokage was no longer a dream, but a fact.
He had reached Kage-level strength without relying on cheap "shortcuts."
And yet…
Ryuji's gaze slid back to the reports, to the names and numbers that represented thousands of lives.
Even Kage-level wasn't enough.
Not for what came later.
He had seen the ceiling of this world in the original story—monsters who could erase landscapes, rewrite reality, and treat armies like dust. Compared to them, even the strongest shinobi of this era were just… early chapters.
The war was coming, and Ryuji wasn't confident he could carry Konoha through it cleanly.
Not without something more.
He was still turning that thought over—still weighing plans and contingency chains—when a sound snapped through his skull like a needle striking glass.
Ding.
Ryuji froze.
The sound didn't come from the room. It came from inside him.
Then another.
And another.
Ding!
[First Hokage — Senju Hashirama has joined the group chat.]
[Second Hokage — Senju Tobirama has joined the group chat.]
[Fifth Hokage — Senju Tsunade has joined the group chat.]
A string of mechanical chimes echoed through his mind, cold and precise—nothing like chakra, nothing like genjutsu.
Ryuji's eyes widened.
A brilliant rainbow flash swept across his vision.
For a heartbeat, the world tilted.
And then the office vanished.
Ryuji found himself standing in a boundless white space—silent, sterile, endless.
In front of him sat a massive round table, so huge it felt ceremonial, like something built for legends rather than people. The shape instantly brought an old myth to mind: knights, oaths, and a table where no seat outranked another.
A voice—neutral, emotionless—rang through the void.
"Welcome to the Konoha Hokage Chat Group."
A translucent interface floated into view. Clean. Simple. Unmistakably a "system."
Ryuji stared at it, then let out a short laugh through his nose.
So this was the cheat.
Late, but not useless.
The interface unfolded its rules like an instruction manual:
This group allowed members to exchange information, intelligence, and supplies. Cross-world support. Shared resources. Cooperation beyond a single timeline.
And as Group Admin, Ryuji had special privileges:
Invite members
Call meetings
Remove members (if necessary)
The next block of text made his expression sharpen.
World Leaderboard would unlock once the group reached five members.
Conquest Mode would activate at ten members, enabling world-to-world operations—including invasion.
Ryuji's mind moved fast.
He'd seen "chat group" cheats in other stories, but those usually pulled random powerhouses from random worlds for comedy or chaos. This one was different.
Only Hokage.
Only Konoha.
Not a multiverse circus—more like a council of the people most qualified to shape the shinobi world.
And that meant one thing:
If this system kept expanding, the future wasn't just survivable.
It was negotiable.
Ryuji looked at the member list.
Group Members
Fourth Hokage — Ryuji (Admin)
First Hokage — Senju Hashirama
Second Hokage — Senju Tobirama
Fifth Hokage — Senju Tsunade
He blinked once.
Then his lips twitched.
Three Senju.
If the Third Hokage had been pulled instead of Tsunade, the meeting would've been… explosive.
Ryuji could already imagine it: Hashirama's heartbreak, Tobirama's fury, and the uncomfortable question hanging in the air like a kunai at someone's throat—
What happened to the Senju?
He didn't have time to savor that thought. His gaze shifted to the Invite button.
Greyed out.
Inactive.
So the system had limits. At least for now.
Which meant if he wanted progress—if he wanted that leaderboard, that conquest mode, that leverage—
He needed to use what he had.
Ryuji reached out and pressed [Call Meeting].
The interface emitted a soft beep.
And in the empty white space, a gate of shimmering light unfolded like a door being cut into reality.
Elsewhere — Konoha, Senju Residence
Senju Hashirama lay on a bed that felt too small for him now.
The First Hokage—who once stood like a mountain at the front of the world—looked diminished. Not in spirit, but in flesh. His breathing was shallow. His skin had the pale cast of someone whose body was losing a war it couldn't win.
At his side, Uzumaki Mito adjusted his blanket with gentle hands, her eyes steady, her face calm even when worry pulled at the corners.
Standing nearby was Senju Tobirama, arms folded, posture straight, expression sharp as ever.
Hashirama coughed softly, then swallowed the bitterness in his throat.
"…What's been happening in the village?"
Tobirama's eyes flicked to him, and for a rare moment, irritation didn't lead—concern did.
"Don't worry about the village, big brother. Focus on your health." His voice lowered. "The other villages are watching you too. If your condition worsens… they'll smell blood. The world will tilt toward war again."
Hashirama's gaze drifted down to his own hands—once powerful enough to shape forests, now trembling faintly.
Madara's shadow still clung to his bones.
He breathed out, slow and heavy.
"I tried to make peace," he murmured, like confessing to the ceiling. "But if I'm gone… everything we built might crumble. This world was always standing on the edge of a blade."
His fingers tightened weakly in the bedsheet.
"I want to do more. But time…" He paused, and his smile was tired. "Time isn't listening."
Tobirama's jaw tensed.
"You've done more than anyone," he said, voice controlled—almost too controlled. "But you're right about one thing. The world is fragile." His fists clenched at his sides. "That's why I won't let it fall apart while I'm still breathing."
Mito rested a hand on Hashirama's shoulder, warm and grounding.
"Your dream won't vanish," she said quietly. "Konoha won't let it."
Tobirama snorted, practical to the end.
"Dreams don't defend borders. Preparation does." His eyes narrowed. "Still… I'll rebuild this village as many times as I have to."
Hashirama turned his head slightly, looking at his brother with something like fondness.
"You've always been too serious, Tobirama." His voice softened. "You'll keep this place standing."
Tobirama opened his mouth—ready to argue—
When a foreign sound struck Hashirama's mind.
Ding.
A voice followed, cold and perfectly clear.
[You have joined the Konoha Hokage Chat Group.]
[The group owner, Ryuji, has called for a round table meeting. Please attend on time.]
Hashirama's eyes widened.
He scanned the room—walls, windows, shadows—searching for the intruder.
Mito noticed instantly. "Dear? What is it?"
Tobirama's gaze snapped around the room, chakra senses flaring out of habit.
"Did you hear that?" he asked sharply.
Mito blinked. "No."
Tobirama's expression tightened.
"No chakra fluctuation. No genjutsu signature." His eyes narrowed further. "Then what is it?"
Hashirama's attention pulled inward.
A thin, translucent screen hovered before him—visible only to him.
Hokage Chat Group.
The words themselves felt impossible.
But the sensation wasn't hostile.
More like… an invitation.
Hashirama's heartbeat steadied. In the last stretch of his life, with the village still heavy on his shoulders, curiosity won over caution.
"…I'll go," he whispered.
The instant the decision formed, vibrant color flooded the room—light so bright it didn't belong to the physical world.
Hashirama's body dissolved into it.
And then he was gone.
Mito's hand flew to her mouth.
"Hashirama—"
Tobirama stared at the empty space, frozen for a half-second before frustration flashed across his face.
"…Big brother never listens," he muttered.
But the edge in his voice couldn't hide the crack beneath it.
Concern.
And something else.
A feeling Tobirama hated more than any enemy—
Not knowing.
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