#Hokage's Office
The Third Hokage stared out his window, lost in thought. Behind him, a scroll lay open on his desk—battlefield reports from the front lines, each one more startling than the last.
A metal giant nearly one hundred meters tall had suppressed the Five-Tails. A single explosion had decimated hundreds of Iwa shinobi.
Hiruzen Sarutobi exhaled slowly, processing the cascade of reports. He'd lived through wars, faced the Nine-Tails himself, yet these updates left him unsettled in a way he couldn't quite articulate.
A demon? A monster?
Since the war began, Seiran's performance had shattered his expectations repeatedly. Defeating the newly appointed Kazekage, Rasa, should have been record-breaking. But that was merely the opening act. The boy had actually fought the Five-Tails head-on?
A metal construct nearly a hundred meters high—this "Mountain Rift" or whatever it was called—bore Minato's fingerprints all over it. The same inventive, slightly eccentric naming sense.
Hiruzen's eyes narrowed. This "Magnet Release"... did such a thing truly exist? And were there really male and female variants of it?
In his decades of life, even Hashirama Senju hadn't reached this level of terror at such a young age. That alone was cause for concern.
Still, Hiruzen remained confident. In direct combat, with effort, he could prevail. Every Kage of the Five Great Villages had records of subduing tailed beasts. Even the Kazekages before Rasa had contained Shukaku. If not for the Nine-Tails' overwhelming power, he could have handled it several times over.
Seiran would fit right in among them.
But that was precisely what troubled him. The boy's talent clearly hadn't peaked. In a few years, once he matured fully, who could stop him?
Pity he was born into the branch family.
Hiruzen's expression darkened. Among the Hyuga, a branch member's fate was sealed before birth—predetermined, inevitable.
He wanted the boy strong enough to end this war quickly. Yet he feared him becoming too powerful, difficult to control. A natural human contradiction.
But his branch family status erased all such considerations.
Hiruzen muttered under his breath, "The screening among the Sarutobi clan's school-age girls should be complete by now."
He bit down on his cigarette holder, eyes fixed on the village beyond. Smoke curled upward, obscuring his vision.
"Once this battlefield concludes, we need him to pass on that bloodline. That electromagnetic ability... it's miraculous."
#Command Tent
Hearty laughter erupted.
"Hahaha! That old man Ōnoki's beard must be absolutely crooked by now! We've never had it this satisfying before!"
Jiraiya's bold laugh filled the tent. High-ranking officers exchanged glances and joined in, their spirits lifted.
Almost unconsciously, their eyes drifted toward the figure seated nearby—white eyes luminous, expression composed.
Days had passed since the major battle, yet the shock Seiran radiated hadn't diminished. Whether it was suppressing a tailed beast or commanding that towering metal giant, he'd redefined their understanding of what a shinobi could accomplish.
Hyuga Seiran. The shinobi of miracles.
That's what the soldiers called him now. His name alone sparked cheers throughout the camp.
"Iwa remains quiet for now, but we can't afford complacency," Jiraiya said, pressing his hands onto the sand table, eyes gleaming. "Once our shinobi recover, we launch a counterattack. Han's been crippled—he won't recover combat strength anytime soon. For the first time, our high-end combat power outmatches theirs. If we move now, we could end this war early."
Jiraiya's gaze grew distant. War. Even now, memories surfaced unbidden—the Second Shinobi World War, before he'd earned his title among the Legendary Sannin. The Land of Rain. Rain and blood mixing on foreign soil.
He'd had three apprentices back then. He wondered how they were faring now.
A faint smile crossed his face at the memory of Konan in that frog outfit.
The tent door suddenly burst open.
A messenger shinobi rushed in, panic etched across his features.
"Lord Jiraiya! Scout report from the front—Iwa's main force is moving to attack!"
"What?!"
Jiraiya's head snapped up. Shock and disbelief flooded his expression.
"That's impossible. Iwa was repelled less than an hour ago. You're telling me they're taking the offensive again? Are you absolutely certain?"
Not just Jiraiya. Seiran's brow furrowed, surprise flickering in his white eyes. The surrounding officers wore identical expressions of astonishment.
They'd been discussing a counteroffensive. Now Iwa was attacking first?
Under the weight of all those stares, the messenger wiped sweat from his brow.
"The intelligence is reliable, sir. Our scouts are tracking their position and will relay updates constantly. Iwa's main force should reach the camp in approximately thirty minutes."
Jiraiya drew a sharp breath, his face darkening.
What was Ōnoki thinking?
A major defeat. His Jinchuriki seriously wounded. And instead of consolidating, he launches an immediate counterattack? It made no strategic sense.
Beside him, Seiran's eyes narrowed slightly. His intuition screamed that this hasty offensive concealed something—some hidden strategy he couldn't quite glimpse with the information at hand.
Jiraiya exhaled slowly. His earlier optimism seemed naive now. This war wouldn't end quickly. Iwa had committed deeper resources. If they fought to the death, the outcome remained uncertain.
His gaze swept across every officer present before shooting toward the tent entrance.
"Sound the alarm!" His voice carried absolute authority. "Tell every shinobi—prepare for battle!"
"Yes, sir!"
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