The largest command tent of the Iwa shinobi camp fell silent as Ōnoki, the Third Tsuchikage, absorbed the scout's latest report. His weathered face betrayed nothing, but his knuckles whitened against the armrest of his chair.
"Full release?" he asked quietly.
"Yes, sir. Han manifested the Five-Tails completely."
Ōnoki exhaled slowly, leaning back. There was a world of difference between borrowing a Tailed Beast's chakra and unleashing it entirely. The former was control; the latter was desperation. Han wouldn't resort to such measures unless he was losing.
And losing badly.
The Third Tsuchikage had prepared meticulously for this conflict. He'd replaced Iwagakure's arsenal, calculated every variable, studied every report on the rising prodigy from the Hidden Leaf Village. As one of the Five Kage with decades of experience, he didn't underestimate opponents. Not even young shinobi fresh to prominence.
Yet apparently, his calculations had been insufficient.
"Dismissed," Ōnoki said flatly. "Report immediately when you have new information."
The scout hurried out. Ōnoki sat alone with his thoughts, waiting.
The silence didn't last long.
Another scout burst through the tent flap, breathless and pale. "Tsuchikage-sama! Kokuo—the Five-Tails has been defeated!"
Ōnoki's pupils contracted to pinpoints. "Han. Where is Han?"
"Safely evacuated by Koseki. The army is in full retreat. Medical shinobi are standing by. Han is... severely injured."
The wooden armrest cracked beneath Ōnoki's grip. For a moment, his face cycled through colors—green, then white. Even a veteran of the First Shinobi World War, a man who'd faced Madara Uchiha himself, couldn't hide the shock of losing a Tailed Beast.
Now he understood why Rasa, the new Kazekage, had been so thoroughly broken.
"How?" Ōnoki's voice was low, dangerous. "How was Kokuo defeated?"
The scout hesitated. "There was... a metal construct, sir. Larger than the Five-Tails itself. The beast couldn't find an opening to attack."
A metal construct larger than a Tailed Beast.
Ōnoki's mind immediately conjured the image of Madara Uchiha's Susanoo—that titanic, otherworldly technique that could reshape landscapes. He'd faced it in his youth, and though he'd held his own, he'd never forgotten the overwhelming pressure of standing before such power.
"What is this technique called?" he demanded.
The scout's face twisted as he struggled with the words. "The nearby scouts overheard... It's called 'Magnet Release: Mountain Rift Sky Super-Tail-Tough Metal Giant Dance Zero Arrow.'"
He gasped through the entire name like a man drowning, grateful his shinobi training included exceptional memory.
Ōnoki went perfectly still.
What kind of name was that? Was it even a real jutsu? Where had this technique come from? And more pressing—who in the Hidden Leaf Village had developed it?
After a long silence, Ōnoki exhaled. His expression hardened into cold calculation. If he didn't intervene personally, suppressing this Hyuga prodigy would be nearly impossible. His Dust Release: Detachment of the Primitive World Technique was absolute—dust touched you, and death followed, genius or not.
But intervening meant Konoha would respond in kind. The Third Hokage, Danzo Shimura, Orochimaru—all the village's elite would be mobilized. And despite Iwagakure's strength, the numbers didn't favor them.
He set that plan aside for now.
"Bring me Roshi," Ōnoki commanded, then added with deliberate civility, "Politely."
The scout's eyebrows shot up. Roshi, the Four-Tails jinchuriki, was notorious for his defiance—constantly at odds with Ōnoki, frequently threatening to leave the village. That the Third Tsuchikage would soften his approach revealed just how desperate the situation had become.
---
Hyuga Seiran walked through the camp, suppressing an amused smile at the ongoing chaos of discussion around him.
"Real men drive giant robots!"
"That name is too good—'Watergate'!"
The various versions of the mech's ridiculous title had evolved into something of a meme among the shinobi, much to his exasperation. But it was useful cover. Attention on the spectacle meant less scrutiny on him.
His eyes drifted toward Kakashi's tent, where the silver-haired jonin had barely emerged in days.
Good, Seiran thought. He's processing.
Knowing the village's uglier truths—knowing how his father, Sakumo, had truly died—would change Kakashi. Darkness would follow naturally. With the right leverage, with the right guidance, a genius like that could be turned into an invaluable asset.
But Kakashi was only the beginning.
The Third Shinobi World War was merely prologue. The real story of the Naruto world began after the fighting stopped—when the Akatsuki rose, when Pain emerged, when the hidden machinations of the Uchiha and the Otsutsuki came to light.
Seiran's shadow clones were already scouring the Land of Grass near Kannabi Bridge, searching for the underground base where Madara Uchiha had begun corrupting young Obito. If they found it before the story's timeline reached that point, everything could change.
His gaze turned distant, calculating.
The Hidden Leaf Village, his clan, even the war itself—none of that was his true objective. His ambition was far grander: to conquer the entire world and use it as a foundation.
Because the real enemies—the ones beyond this world, the Otsutsuki—would eventually arrive.
And when they did, Seiran intended to be ready.
---
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