Published: December 10th 2024, 5:44:57 pm
Curse These Old Bones
[SI as Sarutobi Hiruzen - Naruto]
The story in one sentence :
A cocky, no-nonsense, and ambitious biologist reincarnates as Hiruzen Sarutobi and tries to fix the mess that is the Naruto universe while having some good times and trying not to die.
Tags :
Kingdom Building, Big Fights with eldritch fire and Politics, Serious Take on the Narutoverse
Already 19 chapters written.
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Chapter 1
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He felt old. Incredibly old. Old, sick, and in pain. The original Sarutobi Hiruzen must have had a will of steel to keep moving and working with all those aching joints and scars that hurt with every step. The God of Shinobi, huh? Gabriel would have given anything to be reborn as Sasuke, Naruto—hell, even Sakura! Young, dashing, with their whole lives ahead of them!
At least there was one good thing about the situation. Gabriel wouldn't have to defend his damn PhD thesis in cell biology anymore; he wouldn't have to pay any damn rent, and, most importantly, he could throw mega fireballs. And lightning dragons. At least it was a childhood dream come true, considering the others—in terms of family and career—clearly weren't possible anymore. But... Sarutobi? A decrepit old man Come on, reincarnating as Kakashi wasn't too much to ask!
But no, Sarutobi. Because the old man meddled with seals he did not understand.
The Professor had discovered the subtle influence of a genjutsu he couldn't escape. A genjutsu that was secretly manipulating him, causing him to make decisions that seemed harmless at first but had significantly undermined Konoha's strengths: lowering the Academy's graduation requirements, turning a blind eye to Danzo's activities… A genjutsu that made him forget its existence within hours of discovering it, and one that prevented him from discussing it with others.
Gabriel had to admit, Hiruzen had been remarkably clever, sending himself coded messages—Memento-style—to try to remember and dismantle the illusion. But the Professor, in his absolute genius, had misdiagnosed the genjutsu. Gabriel, armed with his knowledge of canon, suspected it was some variation of the technique Tobi used to control Yagura, likely derived from the Mangekyo Sharingan. He couldn't quite recall the exact details.
Fuck, he could not recall the details.
Believing he'd been struck directly in the soul, the original Hiruzen had devised a summoning technique to "switch" his current mind with that of a shadow clone he had sealed away in a scroll several years earlier. Of course, experimental seals are rarely reliable, and somehow, at the end of the ritual, Gabriel found himself in the body of the old Kage.
The very old Kage.
Fuck joint pain.
At least he had time before…
"Fuck", he said aloud as he identified where he was in the timeline, surprising the Anbus : had the Hokage just…cursed ?
He was nearly at the beginning of canon. About…five weeks - or six ? - before Naruto's graduation. The beginning of a story in which he was old, tired and destined to die at the hands of his former pupil. And if he managed to survive the Sand Invasion ? Akatsuki. Enemy Kage. Other villages. Pain. Obito. Sasuke, once he would learn about the truth being the Uchiha massacre. Madara. Zetsu. A fucking goddess…All those people who dreamt of being reincarnated into Naruto clearly had a problem.
When people thought of Naruto, they imagined gleaming headbands and explosive duels, dazzling fireballs and eccentric mentors with hair or bushy brows that defied physics. They did not think of the child soldiers, conditioned to kill before they could understand the weight of a life. They did not think of the genjutsu that clawed into the mind, leaving free will shredded and discarded like a broken puppet - like the original hiruzen had almost been. They did not think of the eldritch entities bound in human flesh—ancient horrors that never should have crossed into this reality. They overlooked the white-and-black carnivorous thing lurking on the edges of legend, or the grotesque ritual where one could call forth a Death God to devour your soul as payment for its terrible service. They did not think of the eyes. The Eyes! And they certainly did not consider the Outer Goddess, a nightmare from beyond, that tore apart the fragile seams of existence to claim the divine essence from the eyes of demigods.
Naruto wasn't a shonen—it was a fractured, Lovecraftian nightmare masquerading as heroism.
Hiruzen let out what was probably the longest sigh of his entire life— both lives.
Why couldn’t he have reincarnated into someone fun, like Dionysus from the Percy Jackson universe? Lounging around, sipping wine, and cracking jokes about demigods sounded a hell of a lot better than creaking joints and paperwork. Or even Dumbledore—sure, there’d still be politics, life-or-death stakes and a homicidal snake-man, but at least he’d get a cool beard. Hiruzen was stuck with a goatee.
At least he was in charge of a military dictatorship of murder-wizards, and once he'd solved all these problems, he…Fuck ! He wasn't even the top dog - as the Daimyo had him by the balls. This explained a lot of things he could not make sense of in canon…
The hidden villages were profoundly reliant on the Daimyo, their dependence spanning legal, commercial, and military realms. This reliance extended to crucial supplies such as raw materials, manufactured goods, and food, rendering the hidden villages utterly reliant on the support of the states. Gabriel had momentarily overlooked the fact that he wasn't navigating modern environments, where widespread literacy and understanding of logistics and management were the norm. In this less advanced setting, administrative affairs of the village were, to a significant extent, managed by Daimyo officials. These officials were the sole custodians of the administrative language, distinct from the vernacular spoken in the village—akin to the distinction between Latin and Old French in Gabriel's ancient world, where Latin persisted as the language of law in the Middle Ages.
The hidden villages were newborns compared to the ancient empires they served. The Land of Fire, for example, had over a thousand years of history behind it—a legacy carved into every road and palace. By contrast, Konoha was barely one hundred years old—hardly more seasoned than Hiruzen himself. The difference was stark not just in age but also in scale. Konoha housed around half a million people, whereas the Land of Fire’s population exceeded two hundred million.
Alarmingly, more than four million people made up the Daimyo's regular army—and he could also call peasants to arms. Among the four million, most were ordinary individuals armed with spears and shields, hastily trained to patrol towns and roads. However, the samurai of the Land of Fire numbered over one and a half million. These were seasoned veterans who used their "internal energy"—a primitive term for chakra—to grant themselves superhuman abilities. Samurai were to ninjas what martial artists and their body-reinforcement arts were to cultivators in the Chinese webnovels he used to read.
Fuck! And now that he was stuck here, he couldn't even find out how One Piece ended!
On average, it took more than three samurai to fight a genin, and ten to fight a chunin. But even then… yeah, they'd be screwed, Hiruzen thought grimly after reviewing his forces. With enormous losses, the Daimyo's army could completely raze Konoha. The most powerful ninjas could kill samurai by the hundreds, but while defending Konoha's civilians? Their own families? Impossible.
Konoha's force was modest, numbering around sixteen thousand ninja with various specialties. Among them were about two thousand six hundred seventy specialists, including doctors and cryptanalysts—highly vulnerable to rapid elimination during the chaos of war. The regular troops consisted of roughly six thousandgenin, five thousand chunin, and about eight hundred jonin. Additionally, there were five hundred thirty "special jonin," like Anko. The Hokage's "personal militia" consisted of one thousand seventy Anbu, most of them chunin-level, with a solid core of about four hundred jonin-level ninjas.
Yet beneath this seemingly formidable force lay troubling internal weaknesses. Konoha was less a cohesive village and more a loose coalition of clans, cobbled together under a primitive feudal system. The Academy and the central mission organization were relatively recent additions, bolted on only a few decades ago. Despite the Hokage's considerable authority—illustrated by actions like the Uchiha massacre—the village's administrative structure was archaic and inefficient. The Hokage, a military dictator in all but name, wielded power more suited for commands like "assassinate this man" than nuanced reforms such as "revise administrative law."
This inefficiency and lack of sophistication in governance hindered the Hokage's ability to exercise subtle influence. Which made sense - the Hokage was selected as the leader because he was "the strongest ninja of the village". Which made sense - in a world where a genin could take on thirty normal persons, it was normal that strength-based social strategies and hierarchy stabilized, whereas it was impossible in his original world, where competence-based and prestige-based (often) mutually beneficial strategies had evolved. Fortunately, the clan leaders had pledged allegiance, the ninja followed orders, and the Hokage's authority remained unchallenged—though navigating the intricacies of refined leadership was a different matter entirely.
He made a gesture.
An Anbu operative silently materialized in Sarutobi's office, hooded and masked, the air thick with urgency. With a crisp salute, the shadowy figure saluted.
"Hokage-sama ?"
"Get me Ibiki Morino. And Shikaku Nara. And, while we’re at it, Asuma Sarutobi, Kakashi Hatake, and Anko Mitarashi. Now. No - In one hour", he ordered. He had to spend some time to regather is thought, even if he already had an idea of a plan. He could not afford to make a mistake.
The Anbu didn’t question Hiruzen’s cryptic command. They didn’t need to understand its purpose; a simple nod was all they gave before vanishing into the shadows. Finally—something dependable. Absolute obedience. A squad of over-trained, hyper-lethal assassins ready to follow his every word without hesitation.
Maybe, just maybe, reincarnating as Hiruzen wasn’t so bad after all and…
"Fuck", he said aloud, for the second time, to the surprise of the last two Anbu operatives hidden in his office. He had forgotten. Danzo, and his brainwashed trigger-happy elite warriors. Even more ennemies. Yay ! Maybe it was not even Obito, but rather Danzo who had the original Hiruzen under a Genjutsu.
Hiruzen grimaced as he bent over - fuck his old bones. If only he could...but yes!
"Genjutsu ! I'm a fucking Genius".
The old man stretched, noticing out of the corner of his eye the surprise of his Anbus. He was going to have to be more careful to stay in character. But, after all, who would have been able to understand his situation? And he'd love to see you there, in his place, having to deal with the stress. In any case, he was a fucking genius. What if he used genjutsu on himself to deactivate his own pain receptors and stop his back hurting? Pure genius. OK, maybe it was a bit obvious, but you had to let him have his little victories.
The professor made a few signs—rat, horse, tiger—and sighed with relief. The pain had gone. Pending a more definitive solution, though, he knew this wasn’t sustainable. Not knowing when he was in pain was the fastest way to miss something fatal—a truly stupid way to die.
— — —
Shikaku Nara lay stretched out on the rooftop of the Hokage Tower, staring lazily at the drifting clouds above. He wasn’t in any rush. In fact, he wasn’t in a rush to do anything. Work could wait. The village could wait. Everything could wait. At the moment, all he cared about was how long it took for that fluffy cloud over there to morph into something resembling an elephant.
He puffed a breath through his nose, eyes narrowing in exaggerated thought. "Hmm... that one's an elephant... and this one... maybe a ninja star? Nah, too edgy. Should’ve been a cloud—wouldn’t be so sharp."
A sound cut through his musings, barely a ripple in the air. His gaze flicked to the edge of the roof without moving a muscle, already knowing what had arrived. Only one group moved that quietly.
A flash of black, an Anbu operative, their mask gleaming in the sunlight, crouched beside him, unwavering in their presence.
"Shikaku-sama," the Anbu said, voice crisp and unwavering, despite the casualness of the encounter. "The Hokage summons you."
Shikaku blinked lazily, like someone waking from a nap they didn’t want to end. "The Hokage?" he drawled, yawning and stretching his arms overhead. “Now, that's a surprise. Normally I’d get a hawk... Anbu... huh. Alright, alright, I’m coming.”
He shifted slowly, deliberately, as if moving faster would somehow be a crime. Clouds were important, after all. But there was no escaping it, was there? The Hokage wanted him, and that trumped whatever cloud formation was currently occupying his attention. With a final glance at the sky, he reluctantly stood, making his way toward the stairs.
He didn’t hurry. Why rush? No one in the village was so desperate to see him that they’d actually care if he took a little extra time. The steps creaked under his weight as he descended, a casual rhythm to his pace. He was Head Jonin, after all—number two in the village. Everyone else could wait. He didn’t need to run—his rank afforded him that much leeway. But still, he had answered the summons immediately. This was the Hokage, after all.
Shikaku respected the rank of Hokage as a soldier would respect the command of a general, but his regard for Hiruzen ran deeper. The man was sharp—razor-sharp—and Shikaku, as a fellow strategist and, above all, as the head of the Nara clan who lived in this village, appreciated that. Hiruzen didn’t just lead with strength; he led with intellect, weaving solutions that others couldn’t see until it was too late. Shikaku admired that kind of quiet brilliance. He wouldn’t say it aloud—praise could feel like flattery, and neither man had time for that. But in his own subtle way, Shikaku saw himself as a quiet supporter of Hiruzen, someone who recognized not just the burden of the Hokage’s position, but the mind behind it. Even if for the last years….decade or so…ah, old age. Truly, the death of the fourth had been…
Shikaku finally arrived at the door to the Hokage’s office. The sight that greeted him was enough to jolt him to full alertness.
Hatake Kakashi stood by the Hokage’s door—odd, but not entirely unexpected. If there was any door Kakashi would arrive early for and choose over a window, it was this one. What was strange was the company with him. Sarutobi Asuma looked unusually tense, his arms folded, while Mitarashi Anko fidgeted with a kunai, her restless energy practically radiating chaos. Then Ibiki Morino arrived. The head of Interrogation moved with his usual grim focus, seemingly untouched by the charged atmosphere surrounding the group.
Shikaku’s instincts screamed. This assembly—these particular people…Whatever it was, it smelled like work. A lot of work.
"Shikaku-san", greeted Ibiki, as the other nodded at him. Even if he outranked them, Shikaku had always disliked military salutes or over-formal greetings.
He leaned casually against the wall, his posture relaxed, but his mind was sharp and alert. With a subtle flow of chakra, he activated an ancient Nara technique, the one that truly was their clan technique, a fiercely guarded secret known only to their bloodline. This jutsu divided his brain into two independent streams of thought, allowing him to process information in parallel. It was the true source of the Nara clan’s fabled intelligence—a carefully concealed truth that the world mistook for natural-born genius. The Nara were content to let others believe the myth; their real advantage lay in how well they protected this secret. While one half of his mind cataloged every detail—the tension in Asuma’s stance, the restless flick of Anko’s kunai—the other began dissecting the situation, sifting through possibilities and crafting strategies.
The door to the Hokage's office creaked open, and in stepped the Hokage’s secretary. Shikaku’s sharp eyes flicked to her instantly, cataloging every detail with the quiet efficiency his clan was known for.
She had the kind of face that made you think of sunshine and daisies—bright, innocent, and unassuming. Large, doe-like eyes framed by soft lashes scanned the group, accompanied by a small, polite smile. Her petite stature and seemingly delicate frame screamed civilian, maybe a low-ranking chunin at best. But Shikaku’s trained gaze caught the incongruities.
The muscles in her thighs, evident even beneath the modest skirt of her uniform, were far too developed for someone who spent their days pushing papers. Her abs, visible only because of the sharp line her sash cut across her tunic, hinted at rigorous training rather than office work. Her posture—lean, coiled, and subtly balanced—was the kind of readiness that came from years in the field, not behind a desk. The calluses on her hands were another giveaway. They weren’t the kind that came from holding a pen or typing away at reports; they were the marks of someone who had spent years gripping weapons, sparring, and climbing sheer walls.
Shikaku’s thoughts hummed. ANBU. Had to be. No chunin secretary carried themselves like that. His lips quirked ever so slightly. Someone with less of an eye for detail might miss it entirely. He doubted most of the village realized the Hokage’s so-called “secretary” was probably more lethal than half the jonin corps.
“Shikaku-sama,” she said, her voice soft yet precise, the kind of tone that wouldn’t attract attention but demanded you listen. “The Hokage will see you now.” She stepped aside, her movements fluid and measured, giving them passage to enter.
The group entered without a word, but Shikaku felt the atmosphere shift the moment they crossed the threshold. The others noticed it too—he could see it in the way Kakashi’s habitual slouch straightened, his single visible eye narrowing almost imperceptibly. Anko’s restless fidgeting stilled, and Morino Ibiki, already rigid, seemed to become a steel rod.
Hiruzen Sarutobi sat behind his desk, but it wasn’t the Hiruzen they were used to seeing. Gone was the warm, grandfatherly smile, the twinkle in his eye that softened his rigid demeanor. This Hiruzen leaned back in his chair, the posture almost lazy, as though he hadn’t slept in days and no longer cared to mask his exhaustion. But his eyes…those eyes burned with an intensity Shikaku hadn’t seen in years. Not since the Kyūbi attack—or perhaps even earlier, when Hiruzen himself had pursued Orochimaru through the dark forests of Konoha.
The old man’s awake, Shikaku thought grimly. His instincts screamed at him to be alert. This wasn’t the benign, approachable leader who juggled politics and ninja diplomacy with a patient hand. This was the man once hailed as the God of Shinobi. And judging by the tension in the room, everyone else felt it too.
With a subtle flick of Hiruzen’s fingers, the four ANBU standing guard—the commander with unmistakable purple hair marking her as Uzuki Yugao—disappeared silently. Their departure made Shikaku shift slightly, his unease growing.
This just got serious. Anbus were the Hokage’s most trusted operatives, his personal militia. Hell, it was a very badly-kept secret among Clan Heads that Dragon, the current Anbu Commander was Hizuen's eldest son, and the father of Konohamaru. If Hiruzen dismissed his Anbus, whatever was about to happen would be beyond sensitive. Shikaku’s mind worked quickly. What could require this level of privacy? And why us? Why him ? Clan heads, no matter how loyal, always had their own agendas.
The secretary stepped out last, pausing at the door. With a practiced hand, she activated the seals embedded into the wood, locking the room down. The soft hum of chakra that followed was faint but unmistakable. The office was now completely soundproofed and secure. Whatever was about to be discussed wouldn’t leave these walls.
Morino Ibiki was impossibly straight-backed, his expression grim and…was that alarm? It was rare for the head of the Torture and Interrogation Unit to look anything but stoic, but there was a flicker of something in his eyes that made Shikaku’s stomach tighten.
Hiruzen’s gaze swept over them slowly, lingering just a moment too long on Anko. Shikaku noted it immediately, the subtle tension that rippled through her shoulders under the weight of that stare. For a fleeting second, he thought the Hokage might be ogling her, but no. The old man would never…That wasn’t it. His expression was too searching, too deliberate. Doubt? Suspicion? Shikaku’s mind raced. His eyes went to the cursed seal…Hiruzen was a man who trusted his ninja, even at the cost of his own peace of mind. For him to fixate like that…Was it about Orochimaru ?
The silence stretched just long enough to feel oppressive. Finally, Hiruzen leaned forward, his movements slow, deliberate. When he spoke, his voice was low, measured—but there was an edge to it, a razor-sharp blade beneath the calm. The Jonin Commander was intently studying Hiruzen now, the lines of his face drawn tight with concentration. And then Shikaku noticed.
The fire in Hiruzen’s eyes.
The Hokage wasn’t as worn out as he seemed. This wasn’t just a tired leader reacting to a crisis. This was a leader taking control, burning away complacency, and preparing to reshape the village as he saw fit. He had not seen such a fire since…well, since the third Shinobi war.
Maybe the old man was not that old after all, Shikaku thought grimly. Gods did not age.
“We have a problem,” he said simply.
Shikaku’s hands remained loose at his sides, but his mind was already in overdrive.
No shit, old man.
— — — —
Chapter 2
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Holy shit.
The thought flared in Gabriel’s—no, Hiruzen's—mind as they entered the office. Seeing Kakashi, Shikaku, and Ibiki in person was one thing—surreal, almost. And Asuma —
And then there was Asuma.
Gabriel’s—Hiruzen’s—breath hitched for a moment as his eyes landed on the man. The memory inheritance hadn’t prepared him for the flood of emotion. Love, pride, and a gnawing ache twisted in his chest. Asuma was his son. The affection was visceral, undeniable, and far too real for a man who’d barely had time to process this second life — and knowing he would die hurt Hiruzen more than he had ever thought it would.
And just like that, there went his plan.
So much for handing the Hokage hat to Jiraiya or Kakashi, he thought bitterly. So much for ditching this mess after dumping future knowledge and blaming it on Itachi or some spy network. He couldn’t do it. Not now. Not when this village, his ninjas, and Asuma were tied to him in ways he couldn’t unravel. Hiruzen hadn’t just left him chakra theories and a terrifying arsenal of techniques—from fire release to medical ninjutsu and intricate sealing methods. He’d also left him feelings. Deep ones. And for a hardened shinobi, the old man had carried a hell of a lot of them. He fell the love for his village, his ninjas, his four children and his only grandson…Hiruzen felt deep in his old bones that he could not abandon them.
And then Mitarashi fucking Anko entered.
Holy fuck.
Kishimoto had done her dirty in Boruto.
Her wild purple hair framed a strikingly beautiful face, her sharp cheekbones and soft lips contrasting with the fiery glint in her eyes. A smirk tugged at the corners of her mouth, a playful, daring expression that almost masked the subtle tightness in her jaw and the faintest flicker of unease in her gaze. And why wouldn’t she be, summoned by the local military dictator—a man fully capable of killing her without breaking a sweat? Her trench coat hung open, showcasing a flak jacket that seemed to strain against the sheer fullness of her chest, the taut fabric outlining every curve as if it were barely managing to hold everything in place. Beneath the jacket, fishnet stretched taut over her torso, showcasing the defined ridges of her abs, each muscle carved with precision from years of relentless training. Her toned thighs, strong enough to drive through opponents or pin them in a fight, flexed subtly with every step, a testament to her agility and strength. Her arms and shoulders carried the strength of a kunoichi who had survived and thrived in the harshest of conditions. Her leather skirt rode low on her hips, blurring the line between utility and provocation, while her long, athletic legs were highlighted by thigh-high boots that amplified her already commanding presence.
Get a grip, Gabriel scolded himself, forcing his gaze away from Anko and back to the task at hand. Your ninjas are watching.
Kakashi stood straight, his posture uncharacteristically formal, his single eye sharp and focused. Gabriel felt a flicker of pride—Hiruzen’s pride, now his. There wasn’t a soul in Konoha, save the Hokage, who could make Hatake Kakashi abandon his habitual slouch. Shikaku’s usual lazy demeanor had vanished entirely. He stood with quiet focus, his sharp eyes already dissecting the room, posture alert and ready. Ibiki, as always, exuded control, but Gabriel—armed with the Professor’s ingrained insight—caught the faintest hints of stress. The tightening of his jaw, the barely perceptible tension in his fingers. Even the unshakeable head of interrogation wasn’t immune to the weight of whatever was coming.
Hiruzen’s instincts are sharp as hell, Gabriel thought, marveling at how easily he now read their body language.
He straightened in his chair, clasping his hands together in front of him.
Hiruzen sighed quietly, the weight of his predicament settling over him. He was stuck between a rock and a hard place. On one side, it would be safer to keep his cards close, to act cautiously, say nothing, and let no one know what he truly understood. Danzo, Tobi, Orochimaru’s spies—they were all threats that loomed large, and revealing too much too soon could send ripples that would undermine everything. A patient plan might be best: recall Jiraiya, wait, and then send him with Kakashi and Gai to quietly eliminate Danzo. That approach minimized risks to himself. Lay low. Survive.
But Gabriel wasn’t just Hiruzen. No matter how cautious he was, some of his own habits—different from the original Hiruzen’s—would inevitably seep into his behavior. They already had. He’d caught himself toggling his gaze toward Anko for a beat too long. He’d made sure to shift his eyes to her cursed seal to misdirect the fucking genius sociopaths standing in front of him, but still, it was a risk. This was Konoha—a village where paranoia wasn’t just encouraged; it was essential to survival. Every shinobi here was trained to dissect inconsistencies with the precision of an autopsy.
His own children, his advisors, and someone like Ibiki would notice if his actions didn’t align perfectly with their expectations. Suspicion wouldn’t just be likely—it was inevitable. And if anyone so much as suspected that he wasn’t truly the Hokage? That he might be an impersonator, a threat to the village?
That wasn’t just a problem. It was a death sentence.
So, he had to take the initiative—act boldly enough to avoid suspicion. Create a context where it would not be strange if he acted unlike usually. If played correctly, it might even strengthen his position in the long term.
And it began now.
— — — —
Ibiki Morino prided himself on being a consummate ninja of the Leaf—a man forged from discipline, ruthlessness, and unyielding loyalty. Competence, utility, and obedience: these were the holy trinity by which he measured his worth. To be useful to Konoha was to be alive; everything else was noise, distractions for the weak. Pride, he had learned early in his career, was a soft thing, and softness invited exploitation. True strength came from the eradication of vulnerabilities. He had no illusions about his purpose—no romantic notions of heroism. Ibiki was the shadow cast by the bright ideals of the village, the blade that struck where others could not bear to look. And he embraced it without hesitation.
Ibiki had seen horrors, inflicted them, survived them. His purpose wasn’t to shield others from the darkness but to wield it in Konoha’s defense. As such, he rarely felt surprise anymore. Shock was for the naive; dismay was for those who clung to illusions. But when the Hokage fixed his piercing gaze on the group, turning first to Shikaku, Ibiki felt something stir—a small, cold tendril of unease.
“Jonin Commander,” the Hokage began. His tone was clinical, his expression flat. But it was the choice of words that made Ibiki’s blood still. He wasn’t addressing Shikaku by name. That was never good. "Jonin Sarutobi, Jonin Hatake. Special Jonin Mitarashi, Special Jonin Morino". Titles implied formalities. Formalities implied seriousness. Seriousness implied severity.
Hiruzen fingers steepled beneath his chin, his gaze sweeping over them. He turned towards the Jonin Commander, “Shikaku. Protocol dictates that I inform you when there’s a significant breach in security. So, you’re in the loop now. Not that you did not deduce it a few seconds ago. There’s a significant security breach. S-rank.”
Shikaku straightened immediately, the lazy air vanishing as he fixed Hiruzen with a piercing look. This wasn’t the laid-back strategist everyone knew—this was the Jonin Commander fully engaged, his mind already working through every angle. No slouched shoulders. No half-lidded eyes. Just razor-sharp focus.
He broke the silence first, his tone dry but tinged with thought. “Well, Fuck."
“S-Rank?” Anko repeated, her voice betraying her shock. Her smirk was gone. The last two breaches of that level had been the defection of her teacher, and the Uchiha massacre. The classification wasn’t thrown around casually.
Ibiki clenched his fists, his nails biting into his palms as fury and shame churned within him. A S-rank Breach. The thought sickened him. A S-rank security breach. And he learned of it only now - he was not the one to tell the Hokage, the Hokage was the one to tell him. It meant Ibiki, Konoha’s intelligence officer, had missed it. Something had happened in the village. Something dire. Someone had infiltrated his village? Compromised it. Betrayed it. And he had missed it. His jaw tightened as his blood ran cold—no, colder. Shame warred with fury. How? How had they slipped past him? Had he grown complacent? Weak? No, he told himself. Stay focused. Analytical. Think.
First, the "protocol" Hiruzen mentioned was nonsense. Everyone in the room knew they lived under a military dictatorship, where the Hokage’s word carried the force of absolute authority. This wasn’t about rules or procedures. So, why did he summon Shikaku? What if…what if the traitors were among Shikaku’s own people? Ibiki stiffened slightly at the thought. Could the infiltrators be among the jonin under Shikaku’s command? Or worse, could they be hiding among the Nara themselves? No, impossible, Ibiki thought. The Nara were pragmatic to the core. Their clan’s survival and prosperity were tied to Konoha’s stability, and Shikaku was a master of driving that point home to his people. Betrayal would go against everything the clan stood for. If the Nara truly had betrayed the village, it wouldn’t have happened without Shikaku’s knowledge—no, it would have been at his command. Were they here to deal with the Clan Head himself? Unlikely. The Hokage wouldn’t have dismissed his ANBU for that, and this was one of the worst places in the entire village to launch an attack on a man who had the habit of dozing off in the grass in the middle of nowhere (even if he appeared vulnerable when he napped, a Shadow Clone in his shadow was always there, quietly keeping watch over the surroundings. But what was a Shadow Clone to do when three teams of Anbus wanted to kill a sleeping man?
"Troublesome… But thanks for putting me in the loop", said Shikaku.
The words hung in the air, but it was the implications that struck Ibiki. Informing Shikaku wasn’t just a strategic decision by the Hokage—it was a calculated political maneuver by Sarutobi Hiruzen. The Hokage had ANBU at his disposal, and the absence of immediate chaos—like the Kyubi rampaging through the village—meant this breach was of a more insidious nature. Clearly, Hiruzen had handpicked Ibiki, Asuma, Kakashi, and Anko as trusted operatives to handle the situation.
Shikaku, however, was not merely Hiruzen’s Jonin Commander; he was, if Ibiki dared to say, a confidant and trusted ally. Yet, more significantly, Shikaku was a clan head. And in Konoha, Clan Politics were an intricate game, as ancient and deeply rooted as the village itself, even more vicious than Ibiki himself.
Everyone knew Shikaku’s loyalty to Konoha was unshakable—he would lay down his life for the village without hesitation. But that didn’t change the reality of how Clans operated. Armed with early knowledge of this situation, Shikaku could position his clan to not only weather the fallout of the incoming crisis, if there was one and Hiruzen failed to prevent it, but also to come out stronger. If movements were coming—perhaps even a purge—and Shikaku was the first clan head to know, it offered him a critical advantage. He could recall his clansmen from missions, position them to best benefit from the outcome of the crisis, fortify his compound's defenses, and warn his allies to prepare.
Hiruzen turned his gaze to Anko, his expression firm yet laced with a sharp edge of cunning. “Anko, you have a specific task. Take a dozen or so prisoners on death row—traitors and infiltrators, the kind typically reserved for medical training and experimentation—and transfer them to my private cells in the underground lab beneath this tower.” He handed her a signed order.
Anko’s brow furrowed, but she nodded as she took the document. “Understood,” she said, though her tone carried a hint of curiosity. Not that she would dare to ask.
The Hokage’s lips curled into a feral smile, one that took even Ibiki by surprise. It was a rare expression for Hiruzen, and it spoke volumes about the gravity of what was to come. “Oh, and Anko,” he said, voice low and sharp, “in a few days, you’ll have a pleasant little surprise.”
Her eyes narrowed, suspicion flickering across her face. “What kind of surprise?”
Hiruzen glanced briefly at Shikaku, a subtle gesture to ensure the Nara clan head was aware he was about to be privy to something important. Then the Hokage spoke, his tone calm but weighted with significance. “Someone has been sabotaging the Academy. Once you’ve transported the prisoners, Anko, you will undertake a four-to-five-day infiltration mission. The target is an Academy Instructor, a Chunin named Mizuki. He has been deliberately undermining the progress of his class—a class that includes clan heirs such as Shikaku’s son, the last Uchiha, and Naruto.”
Shikaku’s reaction was immediate and uncharacteristically animated. “What?” he said, recoiling slightly. Shikamaru has complained more than once about the level of his classmates, but he’d always been at the bottom of his class—despite being a genius. Shikaku had assumed he was bored and exaggerating - which was not a strange thing for a Nara. So, someone had been sabotaging the future of Konoha, an entire generation of clan heirs, and was not aware ? And Ibiki was not aware.
Hiruzen’s expression grew grim. “Very deliberate. I suspect Mizuki’s actions are part of a larger pattern, though the full extent remains unclear. That’s why, Shikaku, I would suggest you dispatch a few of your clansmen to audit the current curriculum. Not an official mission, I'm sure you understand. They can use the Transformation Jutsu to blend in as students across the five Academy sites. I’ll need a report in three days detailing the extent of the sabotage. And Anko, once the report is complete, you will take care of Mizuki personally. It’s worth mentioning—Mizuki has been secretly serving Orochimaru for years, and I just became aware of it.”
Anko’s grin sharpened, her eyes glinting with a flicker of hate.
Ibiki knew Shikaku, like himself, was scrambling to assemble the fragmented pieces of a puzzle neither of them yet understood. The Academy’s sabotage was an outrage—an attack on Konoha’s foundation, its future—but it wasn’t an S-rank crisis. At worst, the damage would warrant a B- or A-rank response, contingent on its scope.
So what was the link between this and the Hokage’s cryptic revelations? The sabotage felt like a fragment of something much larger, a glimpse of a far-reaching conspiracy. Whoever orchestrated it had influence, access, and the ability to cloak their actions from even Konoha’s sharpest eyes. Why act now? And how had Hiruzen uncovered the truth if neither Ibiki nor Shikaku had caught a whisper of it? Then there was the question of the prisoners. Hiruzen’s private cells, sealed for over a decade, were suddenly in use again. Ibiki’s unease grew. Why did he pass this order in front of Shikaku - he could have waited.
Hiruzen’s voice broke the silence, firm yet calm. “Shikaku, Anko, your tasks are clear. You are dismissed.”
They saluted sharply - which was quite unusual for them - and left the room, the echo of the closing door amplifying the tension. The Hokage turned back to the remaining trio: Ibiki, Kakashi, and Asuma. His expression, hardened by years of burden, was now grim beyond anything Ibiki had seen before. This was no longer the wise, compassionate elder. This was the man who had earned the title of God of Shinobi.
“What I am about to say,” Hiruzen began, his voice cold and razor-edged, “is a rank SSS-secret. If a single word of this leaves this room, it will mean not just your deaths but the collapse of Konoha itself.”
Ibiki felt the weight of those words settle over him like chains. Even Kakashi, whose composure rarely cracked, stood rigid, his visible eye narrowing. Asuma’s usual casual stance was gone, his shoulders tense.
Hiruzen’s voice dropped, as though the truth itself was too vile to be spoken aloud. “Shimura Danzo has betrayed this village. Not once, not twice, but for years—decades.”
Ibiki’s chest tightened, his sharp mind latching onto every word like a blade cutting into him. The Hokage’s next words were ice.
“He has been the one collaborating with Orochimaru. He facilitated the logistics for Orochimaru’s experiments. He sourced human subjects—innocents, prisoners, even Konoha citizens. He violated every law of this village and every shred of decency, all under the guise of protecting Konoha. He probably is the one behind the deterioration of the Academy.”
Asuma staggered back a step, his face pale. Kakashi’s hands twitched at his sides, fists clenching. Ibiki forced himself to remain still, though his mind churned violently.
“ROOT,” Hiruzen spat the word like venom, “was never disbanded. Despite my orders, Danzo kept it alive, nurturing his secret army in the shadows. He abducted children - from orphans to clan children. He has assassinated loyal shinobi, men and women of this village who discovered his treachery and tried to expose him.”
Ibiki’s breath slowed. His control was iron, but the implications rattled even his fortress-like discipline. Loyal shinobi—slaughtered by the man who was supposed to protect the village.
Hiruzen’s voice grew harsher, sharper. “But the worst of it—the most unforgivable of his crimes—is his role in the Uchiha massacre.”
The air seemed to leave the room. Kakashi stiffened, his visible eye widening. Asuma’s lips parted, disbelief carved into his expression. Ibiki’s stoicism cracked, a slight narrowing of his eyes betraying the turmoil inside.
“Yes,” Hiruzen said, his tone bitter. “The Uchiha were preparing a coup. But Danzo took that truth and turned it into a weapon. He manipulated Itachi Uchiha, forging orders in my name, to slaughter his clan. He promised Itachi that his actions would save Konoha and spare his brother, Sasuke. Then, he sent Itachi into the Akatsuki as his spy, ensuring his silence.”
Asuma’s voice broke, trembling with disbelief and fury. “You… Father… You didn’t know?”
Hiruzen turned his gaze on his son, his eyes hollow. “No, Asuma. I didn’t know. Because Danzo ensured that I couldn’t.”
Ibiki’s mind snapped to attention, his voice sharp. “How?”
The Hokage’s next words froze them all. “Danzo placed me under a Genjutsu. It was unlike anything I’ve encountered—a technique designed to erase itself every time I began to uncover it. For years, I was blind to his actions. My decisions, my leadership—they were not truly my own.”
Ibiki’s thoughts raced, dissecting the enormity of what he’d just heard. The God of Shinobi, ensnared in a Genjutsu for years. Such power was unheard of. His voice was a low growl. “How could such a Genjutsu exist, Hokage-sama?”
Hiruzen’s voice grew harder. “Danzo achieved this through the Mangekyo Sharingan — an evolved form of the Sharing, though you probably never heard of it. After Uchiha Shisui’s death, Danzo stole one of his eyes from his cadaver and implanted them into himself. With this evolved form of the Sharingan, he was able to cast one of the most powerful Genjutsu in existence. And I just managed to dispel it.”
-- -- --
Chapter 3
-- -- --
Hiruzen allowed his voice to trail off, giving his audience time to digest the bombshell he’d just dropped. The room was thick with stunned silence. Asuma looked like someone had punched him in the gut—twice. His fists were clenched, his jaw set, but his eyes betrayed the storm of guilt and anger boiling inside him. Hiruzen almost felt bad. Almost.
But guilt was a luxury he couldn’t afford right now. Lying wasn’t just a tool in this world; it was an art form, and he considered himself something of a Renaissance man when it came to tactical deception. The truth of the Genjutsu was murky, sure. Maybe Obito had been the original culprit, using his ridiculous space-time nonsense to screw with the old Hiruzen’s head. But pinning it on Danzo? That was a stroke of brilliance, if Gabriel said so himself.
Danzo was already the village’s resident boogeyman. Root? Experiments? The Uchiha massacre? The man practically screamed “genocidal war criminal.” Throwing him under the bus for the Genjutsu too? No one would bat an eye. And better yet, it provided cover for Gabriel’s own… let’s call them adjustments to Hiruzen’s personality.
He glanced at Asuma, who looked one heartfelt apology away from a full emotional breakdown. Guilt was a powerful motivator, and Gabriel wasn’t above using it. He softened his expression just a hair—fatherly concern, tinged with the weight of impossible burdens. “Asuma,” he said, voice low and steady, “this is not your fault. Nor anyone else’s. The enemy was insidious, hiding in shadows I failed to see. Don't blame yourself for not seeing I was acting differently. The fault lay with me. But now that I know, I will act.”
Asuma straightened slightly, swallowing hard, but he nodded. Good. One down.
Kakashi, ever the enigma, simply gave a slow nod. His posture was relaxed, but Gabriel could practically hear the gears grinding behind that single visible eye. Kakashi would buy the story—Mangekyo Sharingan, Danzo, Shisui—it all checked out. But Gabriel would need to keep an eye on him. Kakashi wasn’t the type to let details slide.
Ibiki was the wild card. The man’s face was a study in granite, his eyes unblinking as he dissected every word, every pause. Gabriel leaned into the scrutiny, meeting Ibiki’s gaze with a steady confidence that said, Yes, everything I’ve said is horrifying and true. Do you dare question it? Ibiki was a paranoiac man - and this story, the one that made everything wrong in the village being attributed to an evil mastermind and a traitor…that narrative fit perfectly to the man's vision.
Finally, Ibiki gave a curt nod. And that’s three.
The beauty of this half-truth, Gabriel mused, was its utility. Shikaku, with his razor-sharp instincts, would piece together just enough of the puzzle to keep his allies—the Akimichi and Yamanaka—on edge. “The Hokage’s onto something big, and he personally game me a warning” he’d say, the worry etched on his face convincing enough to make every other clan head sit up and pay attention. And when Shikaku’s allies found the undeniable evidence of sabotage at the Academy — thanks to the little inquisitor the Naras themselves would conduct, their collective paranoia would ripple through the clans like a well-placed kunai.
They wouldn’t see Hiruzen’s sudden changes as odd or uncharacteristic. No, they’d assume he was reacting to some unfathomable crisis, one they weren’t yet privy to. A little mystery went a long way in maintaining control.
And Danzo? If he came poking around—and he would—Gabriel would feed him just enough scraps to keep him satisfied. “A spy at the Academy,” he’d say with a sigh, shaking his head like a man distraught over the corruption of innocent children. The perfect cover. The old Hiruzen had a soft spot for children and was an academic at heart, something his old teammate knew well — as he berated him for his softness at least once a week.
This mix of truth and fabrication would give him the breathing room he needed to start making real changes. And, perhaps most importantly, it meant that Ibiki, Kakashi, and Asuma wouldn’t think twice about his new policies or strategies. A Hokage freshly “freed” from an oppressive Genjutsu? Of course, he’d be a little different, a little more urgent, a little less inclined to tolerate idiocy.
Kakashi was the first to speak, his voice steady but carrying a sharp edge. “So, what are your orders, Hokage-sama? Do we execute the traitors?”
Hiruzen’s lips curved into a grim smile, the kind that hinted at deeper machinations. “No,” he said, the word cutting through the air like a blade. “Root likely has seventy to a hundred operatives—many of them exceptionally skilled. They are bound to Danzo through particularly vicious seals. Direct confrontation would be reckless. But I have... a plan. One that will bypass Danzo’s control and, in time, allow us to reclaim those operatives for Konoha.”
Kakashi tilted his head, curiosity flickering in his lone visible eye. “Bypass his control?”
“Yes,” Hiruzen replied, his tone lighter, almost sardonic. “I do occasionally have brilliant ideas. This one will require precision, patience, and timing. But if executed correctly, we’ll turn Danzo’s weapon into an asset for the village.”
He straightened, his gaze shifting to Ibiki. “Ibiki, your first task is to begin inspecting the Academy. Danzo will notice you sniffing around—it’s inevitable. He likely has Root agents embedded in your department, watching your movements.”
Ibiki’s face contorted into a scowl of such intensity it seemed to carve deeper lines into his already hardened features. “Root agents in my department?”.
Hiruzen met his gaze without flinching. “Yes. And I expect you to remain disciplined. You’ll sniff, but you won’t strike—yet. Not until I give the word.”
He let the weight of his command settle before continuing. “I don’t know the full roster of Danzo’s operatives, but before I was compromised, I identified a handful of Root agents. These names I remember clearly: Tatsuma Aburame, Torune Aburame, Yōji Aburame. Hyo, Hinoe, Hinoto, and Fū Yamanaka.”
Ibiki’s fists clenched, but he gave a single nod, the promise of action burning in his eyes.
“You are not to act on this knowledge until I say so,” Hiruzen emphasized, his voice steely. “Prepare yourself and your team. When the time comes, I’ll need you ready to move at a moment’s notice.”
He leaned back slightly, letting the weight of his words settle before continuing. “For now, you must keep things business as usual. I’ve taken precautions to ensure I’m immune to the Genjutsu—at least this particular one—but I wanted trusted people to know it had happened. Just in case.”
The three nodded, their postures tense but attentive. Hiruzen shifted his tone, slipping into the calm pragmatism that came naturally to him. “Kakashi, Ibiki, Asuma—what I want now is independent analysis. Each of you will produce a report. You have five days.”
The tension in the room sharpened. Kakashi’s eye narrowed slightly, while Ibiki’s lips pressed into a thin line.
“These reports will include a complete overview of my decisions - and, more broadly, all ninja-related policy decision - over the past few years,” Hiruzen continued. “Highlight the policies enacted, any odd behavior, and most importantly, the changes I refused to make. I want you to identify every weakness in Konoha—administration, military, intelligence, the ninja roster. Anything and everything.”
Kakashi tilted his head slightly, his voice calm but probing. “Do you have specific areas in mind?”
“If I did, I wouldn’t need three independent reports. Consider this an audit of the village’s vulnerabilities—objective and thorough.”
Ibiki let out a low grunt of acknowledgment, while Asuma nodded slowly, his expression thoughtful.
Hiruzen turned to Kakashi. “One more thing. I'm afraid you’ll need to stay in ANBU for a few months.”
Kakashi straightened slightly. “Understood.”
“If the sabotage at the Academy is as pervasive as I suspect, Naruto and Sasuke Uchiha won’t be graduating anytime soon. I need you close to the situation and ready to act if necessary.”
Another nod from Kakashi. “Understood, Hokage-sama.”
Hiruzen’s attention shifted to Ibiki. “Ibiki, I have another task for you. Retrieve every blood sample in our database for these three names.” He handed a folded paper to the scarred ninja. “Bring them to my lab beneath the Hokage Tower by tomorrow.”
Ibiki glanced at the paper, then back at Hiruzen, his expression unreadable but his voice firm. “Consider it done.”
“Good.” Hiruzen’s gaze swept over them once more. “You’re dismissed. Make every second count.”
Kakashi and Ibiki saluted, before turning and leaving the room. The door closed with a heavy 'thud', leaving only Hiruzen and Asuma behind.
For a moment, the room was still. Hiruzen let his gaze rest on his youngest son, studying the mix of emotions flickering across Asuma’s face—curiosity, concern, frustration. Asuma held his gaze, his arms crossed but his posture softer than usual, almost questioning.
Hiruzen finally spoke, his tone quieter but no less firm. “Asuma, tell your brothers and sister we’re having dinner tonight.”
Asuma blinked, caught off guard. “Dinner?”
“Yes. All of us. Tonight.”
The younger Sarutobi hesitated, then gave a small nod, his expression unreadable. “Alright, dad. I’ll let them know.”
Hiruzen inclined his head in acknowledgment, watching as Asuma turned and left the room. He leaned back, exhaling through his nose as he pressed the intercom button. “Come,” he said, his voice steady but laced with the weariness of someone who was juggling three crises and had just discovered a fourth.
Moments later, his secretary entered the room. Professionalism radiated off her like a carefully cultivated shield, her tailored pencil skirt and neatly tucked blouse speaking volumes about her attention to detail. Her stride was confident, precise, and entirely too distracting.Hiruzen forced himself to stare at the clipboard in her hand and not the way her attire complemented her movements.
Focus, Gab-Hiruzen. This is not the time to ruin your newfound Hokage reputation by acting like a lecherous fool.
“Let's go to the underground facility,” he said briskly, tapping the desk lightly with his fingertips.
Her brows lifted just a fraction—enough to signal surprise—but her professionalism held firm. “Yes, Hokage-sama,” she said.
He stood, nodding slightly. As they left the office, he could feel Yugao’s ANBU team trailing him. Their movements were quiet, practically imperceptible, but not to him. I get it. Protect the old man, even if he is able to kill each one of you. He resisted the urge to roll his eyes.
They descended into the underground through a spiraling staircase, the air cooling as they went deeper. The faint smell of age—stone, metal, and dust—lingered, growing stronger with every level. His secretary moved ahead, fingers brushing across seals etched into the walls, activating mechanisms that unlocked heavy iron doors. Each one opened with a groan that seemed to echo far too long.
When they reached the lowest level, Hiruzen stepped into the facility, and nostalgia hit him like a hammer. Or maybe disappointment.
It was worse than he remembered. Dust coated the shelves of his once-meticulous library, where scrolls and books on advanced ninjutsu and anatomical studies lay forgotten. The laboratory, built to rival any in the ninja world during his prime, now looked tired—its stainless surfaces dulled, its equipment reduced to relics of a past era. The reinforced training room yawned open beyond, its padded walls dotted with faint scuffs that told stories of battles long forgotten. A secondary office sat tucked away in the corner, a desk strewn with papers that hadn’t been touched in at least fifteen years. The training room had been built under the first Hokage. The second had added the cells and the office - and he had been the one to complete it with a laboratory and a library.
Neglect, Gabriel thought sourly. The great enemy of ambition.
Ahead of him, Anko stood at attention, her team of Chunin moving with precision as they secured unconscious prisoners into containment cells lining the walls. She turned and bowed slightly as he approached. “Hokage-sama, the prisoners have been processed and are ready for your inspection.”
Hiruzen nodded, scanning the scene. The prisoners were bound and sedated, their heads lolling like broken marionettes. “Efficient work, Anko. As always.”
“Thank you, Hokage-sama,” she replied, her voice carrying respect but without losing its usual edge.
He exhaled through his nose, his gaze sweeping the room again. “The efficiency of the operation only highlights the inefficiency of this space,” he muttered, more to himself than anyone else. “This facility is a shadow of what it was meant to be.”
Anko hesitated before speaking. “We’ll see to its restoration immediately, Hokage-sama.”
“Good,” he said, turning to his secretary. “Tomorrow, I want a cleaning team down here to scrub every inch of this place. After that, inform my daughter that I expect her to oversee the restocking of this lab. I’ll need it fully operational for advanced research.”
His secretary nodded sharply, scribbling on her clipboard. “I’ll notify her immediately.”
At that moment, an ANBU appeared from the shadows, holding a wooden box. Without a word, the operative knelt and offered it to Hiruzen. He deactivated the impressive security seals - but nothing was overkill when one knew what they contained - and opened the box, revealing five vials of blood marked with initials. A faint smile tugged at his lips. “Ibiki doesn’t waste time. Excellent.”
He snapped the box shut and turned to the remaining Chunin. “Finish securing the prisoners. Once they’re in place, leave. You’ve done enough for now.”
“Yes, Hokage-sama,” they replied in unison, moving quickly to complete their tasks.
Within minutes, the facility was empty save for Hiruzen, his secretary, the ANBU team. He turned to his secretary, giving her a small nod. “That will be all for now. Prepare the necessary arrangements and report back tomorrow.”
She bowed slightly and left without another word, her heels clicking faintly as she ascended the staircase.
Hiruzen’s gaze fixed on Cat as the last of the ANBU exited, leaving the room charged with tension. “Cat, stay,” he commanded.
Hiruzen watched as the last of the ANBU melted into the shadows, leaving only Yugao behind.
“Take off your mask,” Hiruzen ordered, his tone leaving no room for debate.
Yugao complied without hesitation, raising her gloved hand to lift the mask from her face. Beneath it was a stark beauty that was almost startling in its contrast to the cold anonymity of her uniform. Her violet hair, trimmed neatly to her jawline, framed sharp cheekbones and a mouth set in an expression of unrelenting seriousness. Her golden-brown emotionless eyes locked onto Hiruzen’s, unwavering and unreadable, the intensity in her gaze as precise as a blade.
Her ANBU gear, designed for efficiency in battle, fit snugly against her body, outlining her powerful, athletic frame. Her chest was firm and pronounced beneath the armor, the straps emphasizing her physique without impeding her movement. The shape of her toned thighs was impossible to ignore, the muscles evident even beneath the black combat tights that hugged her legs. Her hips swayed slightly as she shifted her weight, though her stance was steady and ready for action at a moment’s notice. Her abs, faintly visible through the form-fitting material, were taut and defined, a testament to her disciplined training. Her arms, bare beneath the shoulder guards, showcased sleek muscle that spoke of the strength needed to wield her katana with precision.
“You must wonder why told you to leave when I summoned the others—Asuma, Kakashi, Shikaku, your friend Anko, and Ibiki,” Hiruzen said, watching her closely.
Yugao bowed slightly, her voice steady and even. “No, Hokage-sama. I do not wonder. I am your blade. I obey.”
A faint smirk tugged at the corners of Hiruzen’s lips. Obedient, sharp, and silent. He could get used to this. He nodded, gesturing for her to stand straight. “Good,” he said. “It’s good to have such straightforward loyalty.”
He paced a few steps, letting the weight of the moment build. “We have an S-rank security breach,” he said, his voice quiet but heavy.
Her reaction was subtle—her pupils dilated ever so slightly, and her posture shifted almost imperceptibly, but her face remained impassive. “Awaiting your orders, Hokage-sama,” she replied, her tone steady as steel.
Hiruzen stopped and turned to face her fully. “Dire times call for dire solutions,” he said. “Changes are coming, Yugao. Big ones. Konoha will emerge stronger, but sacrifices will be made along the way. Do you understand?”
Her gaze didn’t waver. “Yes, Hokage-sama.”
Satisfied, Hiruzen moved to the table where the wooden box sat. With precise hands, he opened it, retrieving a vial of blood. He unsealed a scroll from within his cloak, spreading it across the surface in front of him. The intricate seals drawn on the parchment seemed almost alive as he smeared a line of the blood across them.
Yugao’s eyes followed his every movement, her sharp mind already processing the implications. When Hiruzen approached one of the unconscious prisoners slumped against the wall, her jaw tightened slightly. She recognized the man—one she had arrested herself, a rapist and traitor who had stained the village with his presence.
Hiruzen knelt beside the prisoner, his expression unreadable. He placed two fingers against the man’s chest and struck with the precision of a seasoned killer. The prisoner’s body jerked once, then went still, the breath leaving him in an instant.
Without pause, Hiruzen’s free hand began weaving through a series of seals.
“Kuchiyose no Jutsu: Edo Tensei - Impure World Reincarnation .”
-- -- --
Chapter 4
-- -- --
The scroll flared to life, its markings glowing as chakra filled the air, pulsing like a living force. Yugao’s eyes narrowed, her trained instincts compelling her to react, her hand twitching toward her katana. But she stopped herself. She trusted the Hokage implicitly. If this was his will, she would see it through.
Ash swirled upward, forming patterns too intricate to be random, wrapping around the lifeless body like a second skin. The transformation was unnerving, and Yugao’s mind raced through possibilities. She had heard of techniques to reanimate the dead but had never seen one firsthand. As the ash solidified, it gave way to flesh, fabric, and something altogether unsettling.
Before them stood a woman. Shoulder-length light brown hair framed her face, partially covered by a white coif. Her eyes glinted behind a pair of glasses, their striking clarity at odds with the pitch-black sclera that made her gaze difficult to meet. Black cracks marred her face like jagged scars, adding an unnatural element to her otherwise normal appearance. She wore a black, loose-fitting gown under a white apron, the ensemble oddly subdued given the circumstances.
The woman gasped, her chest rising sharply as though her lungs were drawing breath for the first time in decades. Panic flickered across her features—her hands trembling briefly—but then, as though a switch had been flipped, she steadied herself. Yugao recognized the discipline immediately. This woman had been trained to survive the worst.
“Name and affiliation,” Hiruzen’s voice cut through the silence, steady and authoritative.
The woman blinked, adjusting her glasses with a hand that no longer trembled. Her voice was calm, deliberate. “Nonō Yakushi. Ex-member of ANBU from Konohagakure’s Root division. I left the organization and became a jōnin in the regular forces, a captain of the Medic Corps. My primary specializations are intelligence gathering and medical expertise.”
Yugao studied her closely, noting the precision of her words and the way she carried herself. The way she had reined in her initial shock and fallen back into discipline spoke volumes.
Hiruzen inclined his head slightly, his eyes sharp as he regarded Nonō. “Good. You recognize me. Let’s be certain, though—there is a seal on your soul now, controlling your actions. I’m sure you can feel it.”
Nonō’s jaw tightened for a moment before she nodded. “Yes, Hokage-sama.”
“There was a major security breach,” Hiruzen continued, his tone hardening slightly. “The village needs your services again, I’m afraid.”
Nonō bowed her head, her movements crisp and without hesitation. “I hear and obey, Hokage-sama.”
Yugao’s gaze flickered toward Hiruzen as he pressed forward, his questions precise and unyielding. “How confident are you in your medical abilities?”
Nonō straightened, her emerald eyes meeting his directly despite the black void of her sclera. “I was among the best in my field during my life, Hokage-sama.”
“Perfect,” Hiruzen said, his expression shifting to something almost amused, though Yugao could see the tension behind his sharp gaze. “First, I need you to complete a full medical examination. On me.”
Nonō’s eyes widened briefly before she nodded again. “Understood.”
"And then, I will teach you about biology."
— — — — —
The Sarutobi compound was as traditional as Konoha itself—a network of wooden structures bordered by immaculately trimmed gardens. Stone paths cut through the greenery, illuminated by warm lantern light, giving the place an air of quiet dignity. To Taro Sarutobi, it felt like stepping into a history book, one he wasn’t particularly interested in reading.
He wandered down the cobbled pathway, hands stuffed into the pockets of his flamboyant red jacket. The lantern-lit grounds were a stark contrast to his own chaotic lifestyle. Flowers neatly lined the walkways, their scent mingling with the faint, clean aroma of polished wood and pine. It was serene, dignified. In other words, completely at odds with him.
He stopped at the main house, squinting at the light spilling through the windows. His siblings’ voices carried on the evening air. Taro smirked. Time to make his grand entrance.
Pushing the door open with his shoulder, he leaned casually against the frame. “Well, well, look at this elite gathering. Did someone die, or is Dad finally giving out his inheritance?”
Inside, three pairs of eyes turned toward him.
Hiroto Sarutobi, the eldest, was seated at the head of the low dining table. His black hair was tied back neatly, and his sharp features were framed by the perpetual shadow of his goatee. He had an air of authority that could silence a room without him uttering a word. The ANBU Commander’s piercing gaze locked onto Taro with the precision of a kunai. “You’re late,” he said curtly.
Taro shrugged, sauntering in. “Fashionably late, big bro. Don’t act like you weren’t expecting it.”
“You could at least try to show some respect for Father’s summons,” Hiroto replied, his tone hard as steel. He gestured toward the seat at the far end of the table. “Sit. And don’t embarrass yourself. Or us.”
Taro rolled his eyes but plopped down onto the cushion. “Don’t worry, Commander. I’ll keep the embarrassment to a minimum.”
To Hiroto’s right sat Kanna Sarutobi, the family’s second-born and Konoha Hospital’s head doctor. Her short, jet-black hair was neatly styled, and her white coat—despite this being a family dinner—was spotless. She had a no-nonsense air about her, her sharp green eyes flicking over Taro like she was diagnosing a particularly frustrating patient.
“You reek of alcohol,” she said, wrinkling her nose. “And what are you even wearing? You look like you lost a bet.”
“Aw, thanks, sis,” Taro said, shooting her a wink. “Always nice to know you care.”
“I don’t,” Kanna shot back, sipping her tea. “But I have to look at you, and it’s painful.”
Asuma chuckled from his spot at the opposite end of the table. “Don’t mind her, Taro. She just missed you.”
“Exactly what I was thinking,” Taro said, leaning back on his elbows. “Thanks for having my back, little bro.”
Asuma was the youngest of the four, with a rugged, laid-back charm that seemed perpetually at odds with his chain-smoking habit. His goatee and messy hair gave him a roguish look, and his relaxed posture contrasted sharply with Hiroto’s rigidity. If Taro had an ally in this family, it was Asuma. The only one who considered a chakra-less Sarutobi as a family member.
Hiroto cleared his throat, the sound cutting through the lighthearted banter like a blade. “Enough. We need to discuss why we’re here.”
Taro leaned back, propping himself up on his elbows. “Great question. What’s the deal, Asuma? Did Dad finally remember he has kids?”
Asuma flicked the ash off his cigarette, his grin softening into something more thoughtful. “He has his reasons. That’s all I can say.”
Kanna frowned. “Reasons? What kind of reasons?”
“You’ll find out soon enough,” Asuma replied, his tone suddenly serious. “Just… don’t let it throw you if he acts a bit differently than usual…”
Hiroto’s sharp eyes narrowed. “Throw us? Asuma, what are you talking about?”
He had heard about Hiruzen summoning Ibiki Morino, Shikaku Nara, and Hatake Kakashi earlier that afternoon. All three in the same room? That could only mean something serious was happening. And, apparently, his little brother had been privy to it. However, before Asuma could respond, the door to the room slid open.
Sarutobi Hiruzen stepped in; His presence filled the room, commanding attention even before he spoke. But what truly froze everyone in place were the takeout bags he held in his hands, the bold logo of Ichiraku Ramen visible on the side.
“Good evening, kids,” Hiruzen said, his voice warm and cheerful. He set the bags on the table with a flourish. “I trust you’re all hungry. I’ve brought dinner.”
Silence stretched as the siblings stared at him, disbelief etched on their faces. The Hokage—commander of Konoha, their father—serving takeout ramen? Calling them kids? It was unthinkable.
Hiruzen began unpacking the food with surprising enthusiasm. “I hear this ramen is the best in the village. I’ve been meaning to try it for years. What better occasion than a family dinner?”
Taro blinked, then broke the silence with a chuckle. “Okay, Asuma wasn’t kidding. You’re acting… different.”
“Taro!” Kanna snapped, her sharp tone slicing through the air. “Show some respect!”
Hiruzen sighed heavily as he sat down at the head of the table, setting his Hokage hat aside. The small gesture made him seem strangely human, stripped of the weighty office he carried. He raised a hand toward Kanna to forestall further reprimands. “No, let him speak. He’s right.” His voice softened, carrying an edge of raw honesty that none of them were prepared for. “I’ve been a terrible father the last few years.”
Silence. Dead silence.
Taro, for once in his life, had no ready quip. The words hung in the air, so blunt and unexpected that even his penchant for deflection was stunned into stillness. Then, as if his mouth had moved on its own, he said, “For the last decades, you mean. The last three decades. I’m twenty-seven years old. Or maybe you forgot.”
“Taro,” Hiroto began, his tone warning.
But Hiruzen raised a hand again, silencing Hiroto. “No, he’s not wrong.”
Hiroto stiffened, his rigid posture somehow growing even straighter. “Hokage-sama—”
“See?” Hiruzen interrupted, turning to look directly at Hiroto. “You don’t even call me Dad anymore. Not even in private.”
Hiroto spluttered, completely thrown off. Taro, never one to miss an opportunity, leaned back with a satisfied smirk. “Oh, this is going to be good.”
“What do you mean—” Hiroto began, his composure fraying at the edges. “I’m the ANBU Commander. There’s protocol. I—”
“Yes,” Hiruzen said calmly, cutting him off again. “But you’re also my son.”
Hiroto froze, the words hitting him like a blow he hadn’t expected. He shifted uncomfortably in his seat, uncharacteristically unsure. Across the table, Kanna’s lips pressed into a thin line, her sharp eyes narrowing slightly as if she were dissecting a mystery she didn’t quite understand.
Hiruzen turned to each of his children in turn, his steady gaze locking onto theirs with an intensity they rarely saw from him.
Taro’s smirk faltered under that gaze. It wasn’t the usual look of disappointment or exasperation he’d grown accustomed to over the years. It wasn’t even the cold, distant appraisal of a Hokage addressing a subordinate. No, this was different. His father was looking at him—really looking at him. As a person. As a son.
Something unfamiliar stirred in Taro’s chest, an emotion he couldn’t name. It wasn’t discomfort, exactly, but it left him feeling strangely unsteady. What the hell was this?
“I’ve been thinking a lot lately,” Hiruzen continued, his voice steady but heavy. “There’s a lot of… let’s call it shit… going on.”
Taro almost choked on his tea. “What? Did you just say ‘shit’? Who are you, and what have you done with the Hokage?”
Across the table, Kanna discreetly made a quick seal with her fingers. “Kai,” she muttered under her breath, her chakra brushing over the room in an attempt to dispel a potential genjutsu. Nothing changed.
Hiroto, ever the perfectionist, fidgeted in his seat. His sharp gaze darted to Hiruzen, suspicion flickering in his eyes. He almost wanted to shout at the man, to demand he reveal himself as the impostor he clearly had to be. But then… it would be an impostor that had spent the afternoon with Shikaku, Hatake, Morino, and Asuma earlier. And that was impossible. Whoever this was, it was unquestionably their father. And Asuma knew what it was about.
Hiruzen took a deep breath, his expression softening. “I’m not eternal, kids.”
Kanna’s eyes widened slightly. “Are you sick, Father? You’re… strangely loquacious tonight.”
Hiruzen waved her concern away with a faint smile. “No, nothing like that. But I’ve been thinking. And I realized something important.”
He paused, his gaze sweeping over them again. “Each of you. Hiroto, Kanna, Taro, Asuma. I’ve been bad—no, terrible—at showing it. Hell, I still am. But it occurred to me that, even though I assume you know it, it’s healthier to say it aloud.”
He straightened in his seat, his tone quiet but unshakably firm. “Even if I rarely show it, know this: I love you. Each of you. Always have.”
Dead silence again.
Taro’s breath hitched. He glanced at his siblings. Hiroto’s sharp features were frozen in a rare display of vulnerability. Kanna’s hand trembled slightly as she clutched her teacup, her eyes uncharacteristically soft. Asuma leaned back, his cigarette forgotten between his fingers, his expression unreadable.
Hiruzen leaned back, his eyes sweeping over his children as if daring them to speak. Then, in a voice far too casual for what had just transpired, he said, “Now, I want to taste the fucking ramen.”
The sheer absurdity of it left them momentarily stunned. Machinelike, as if in a trance, Kanna and Asuma began unpacking the containers, serving the ramen with the precision of people who weren’t entirely sure if they were awake or dreaming. Hiroto, however, sat frozen, his sharp features caught in an expression of disbelief. Then, he spluttered, the sound breaking the thick silence.
“I… I love you too, Father.”
Dead silence fell over the room again.
Taro stared, wide-eyed, at Hiroto. For the first time in his life, he saw his eldest brother—the unflappable genius, the unyielding ANBU Commander, the man of stone—turn beet red. The blush spread across his face like wildfire, creeping all the way up to his ears. Hiroto’s shoulders stiffened, his eyes darting anywhere but at the others.
Taro couldn’t help himself. “Fuck,” he said aloud, the word slipping out like it had been pulled from his chest. “Now we all have to say it.”
Hiruzen smiled—this was yet another mistake the original Hiruzen had made out of cowardice, but one that he had now taken the first step to fix.
— — —
Nonō Yakushi’s pen danced across the page, her brow furrowed as she tried to keep up with the deluge of information. Her reanimated mind, sharp as ever, worked through the concepts at a dizzying speed. Across from her, Hiruzen’s Shadow Clone sketched a network of interconnected pathways on the blackboard, his voice brisk and unyielding.
“…and that’s why telomeres are critical,” Hiruzen said, underlining the term on the board. “They’re the protective caps at the ends of chromosomes. Every time a cell divides, these caps shorten. Eventually, they’re worn down entirely, which triggers cellular senescence or apoptosis. This is why aging happens at a molecular level.”
Nonō paused mid-note, her eyes narrowing. “So you’re saying the telomeres dictate the lifespan of a cell. But why is this relevant to chakra use?”
Hiruzen turned, tapping the board with his chalk. “Because excessive chakra use accelerates cellular division. Each time a shinobi pushes their limits, they’re not just depleting their reserves—they’re shortening the lifespan of their cells.
Hiruzen kept going. He sketched a chemical compound on the board, labeling it with careful kanji.
“This is telomerase, an enzyme naturally found in certain cells. It replenishes telomeres, essentially reversing the wear and tear caused by cell division. If we could learn to replicate or enhance its activity with medical chakra, the possibilities are limitless.”
Nonō’s pen resumed its furious scribbling. “You’re proposing we use chakra to activate telomerase in targeted cells? That could extend the lifespan of tissues… even organs.”
“No - I'm only making hypotheses. We first have to study in more depth how 'normal' biology interact with chakra.,” Hiruzen replied, his tone calm but resolute. “But there’s indeed more to consider. Why do clans with bloodline limits seem to exhibit higher stamina or resilience?"
— — —
Jiraiya sat cross-legged on a large boulder, surrounded by the serene hum of a forest alive with birdsong. His brush flew across the pages of his notebook, ink smearing slightly in his haste. His expression was a mix of intense focus and devilish glee.
"Ah, that's it!" he muttered to himself, scratching down another steamy line of dialogue. "She glances at him, her cheeks flushed, and then—"
A tiny thud interrupted his flow. Something small and round landed beside him, bouncing once before coming to a rest. He blinked, momentarily jarred, and looked down.
A little monkey, no taller than his knee, sat on the edge of the rock, tilting its head at him with an almost judgmental expression.
“You have to come back, pervert. The old man is calling for you.”
— — —
Chapter 5
-- -- --
"Troublesome," Shikamaru muttered under his breath, his voice just loud enough to catch a few ears but too soft for Instructor Mizuki to hear over the lesson.
“Hey, you woke up?” came Naruto’s excited whisper from the next row, leaning precariously over his desk to peer at him.
Shikamaru didn’t bother responding, deliberately staring straight ahead with the glazed expression he had mastered over years of perfecting the art of ignoring Naruto. Maybe, just maybe, if he didn’t react, Naruto would give up and stop pestering him.
He slouched further into his seat, propping his chin on his hand. Normally, he’d have dozed off by now, letting Mizuki’s droning voice serve as background noise. But today, something was gnawing at him—a sense of unease that refused to be ignored.
It had started yesterday, when his father, Shikaku, had called him into his study. It wasn’t the usual "how are your grades" talk, nor the occasional lecture about putting in more effort. Only his mother did those. Instead, his father had asked him a barrage of questions about the Academy—details about the instructors, the curriculum, and even the students. Shikaku had sighed a lot during that conversation, his sharp eyes narrowing at Shikamaru’s answers in a way that left the boy unsettled.
And now, there was this... anomaly. One of the other students—a boy whose name Shikamaru didn’t even bother remembering—had been glaring at Mizuki with a level of hatred that was unnerving. It wasn’t the usual frustration of a kid stuck in a boring lesson. No, this was something deeper, darker, the kind of intense loathing that made Shikamaru’s instincts twitch. No normal kid stared at an instructor like that.
"Troublesome," he muttered again, tapping his pencil lightly against his desk.
Maybe he should tell one of the teachers about the weird kid. But then again, if his father had been asking about the Academy, and sighing the way he always did when he was stuck dealing with something annoying, it probably meant the adults already knew something was up.
Still, it wouldn’t hurt to mention it tonight, just in case. He could already hear Shikaku’s exasperated response, something about how troublesome his son was for getting involved at all. But that was fine. His father would listen.
For now, Shikamaru closed his eyes, leaning back just enough to feign indifference while keeping one ear tuned to the odd tension in the room. Whatever was happening, it was bound to be more effort than he wanted to deal with.
— — —
Kanna Sarutobi’s eyes burned with exhaustion as she surveyed the bustling lab beneath the Hokage Tower. Her dark hair, usually neatly styled, hung loose and disheveled around her face. A hastily tied ponytail did little to contain the strands escaping in every direction. She tugged at the collar of her oversized blouse, its buttons slightly misaligned in her haste that morning. The sleeves of her baggy pants were rolled up, revealing toned arms and legs honed from her earlier years of fieldwork—a stark contrast to her otherwise unkempt appearance. Despite it all, she carried an effortless allure, her sharp green eyes commanding attention as she directed the replenishment effort.
“Be careful with that crate,” she snapped, gesturing toward an ANBU operative struggling with a box of delicate glass equipment. “That’s not something you want to shatter.” The masked operative gave a quick nod and adjusted his grip.
Beside her, another ANBU—wearing the mask of a cat, one she identified as a commander—supervised the whole scenery. Kanna crossed her arms, her blouse pulling slightly against her frame as she moved through the lab. The room felt alive again after years of disuse, but the sight of ANBU doing menial tasks still struck her as absurd. “Directing ANBU to organize a lab,” she muttered under her breath. “Of all the ridiculous things.”
Behind her and standing next to Cat, stood a woman in a generic, formless mask. She spoke up in a low, pointed tone, correcting another Anbu. “That’s the wrong drawer for the stabilizers. Those belong in the temperature-controlled unit.”
Kanna turned at the comment, her sharp gaze narrowing at the woman in the mask. “You know your chemicals,” she said, her voice edged with curiosity. “Medicinal training?”
The masked woman paused for a fraction of a second before replying evenly, “Something like that.”
Kanna filed the observation away. Interesting. But then again, this was a ninja village. Secrecy was the air they all breathed.
Kanna couldn’t help but reflect on the sudden, drastic change in their father’s behavior. It was jarring. As a former chunin who had left the active ranks years ago to focus on her medical career, she understood all too well the layers of secrecy that came with living in a shinobi village. Even in her role as the head of Konoha’s hospital—a position of considerable importance—she knew there were truths she was never meant to uncover.
Just yesterday, their father had promised Hiroto that today he would share with him the same secret he had revealed to Asuma that morning. Whatever it was, it had clearly shaken Asuma, though he’d kept quiet about the details.
And now, as if summoned by her thoughts, they appeared. Her father entered the lab first, his movements measured yet purposeful. Hiroto followed close behind, his normally impassive face shadowed by a weariness that Kanna had never seen before. He looked older—ten years older, at least—as though the weight of whatever he had just learned had carved new lines into his features.
Kanna frowned, her sharp mind racing to piece things together. Whatever secret their father had shared, it was no small matter. Part of her was almost grateful not to be involved. If Hiruzen’s newfound energy led him to pursue more knowledge and organize more family dinners, she could hardly complain. Small victories.
“Hah, Kanna,” Hiruzen greeted her warmly as he stepped into the bustling lab. His tone was lighter than she expected, fatherly and familiar, a stark contrast to the tension emanating from Hiroto. Behind them, the last of the ANBU operatives finished replenishing the lab’s shelves, their presence as silent as ever.
“Father,” Kanna replied, her tone even but laced with curiosity. Her gaze shifted to Hiroto, whose jaw was tight, his eyes distant. But before she could ask anything further, her attention snagged on something behind them—a series of diagrams scrawled across the blackboard.
She stepped closer, her sharp green eyes narrowing as she studied the intricate illustrations. Among them was a detailed sketch of a cell, its organelles meticulously labeled. In the center, a spiral structure marked “DNA” caught her attention, but it was the accompanying notes about “mitochondria” that made her pause.
“Huh?” she muttered, her brows knitting together. “What’s this?”
Hiruzen chuckled softly, his voice warm and teasing. “Still as curious as ever, Kanna.”
She straightened, a faint blush coloring her cheeks. “I—well, of course I’m curious. This isn’t something you see every day.”
Hiruzen stepped closer to the blackboard, his expression softening into something almost scholarly. “Those, Kanna, are mitochondria,” he said, gesturing to the detailed diagram. “Tiny structures within nearly every cell in the body. Their primary role is to generate energy in the form of a molecule called ATP—adenosine triphosphate. Think of ATP as the cell’s fuel.”
Kanna tilted her head, studying the intricate labels. “So, they’re like... tiny engines inside each cell?”
Hiruzen smiled, pleased with her understanding. “Precisely. They break down nutrients—glucose, fats, and other molecules—and, through a process called oxidative phosphorylation, convert them into energy. That energy powers every function in your body, from muscle contraction to neuron signaling.”
She leaned in closer, her curiosity fully engaged. “And this happens in every cell?”
“Nearly every cell,” Hiruzen corrected. “Red blood cells, for instance, don’t have mitochondria. But in cells that require a lot of energy, like muscle cells, mitochondria are especially abundant.”
“Fascinating… even Tsunade never mentioned this, at least not to my knowledge.”
Hiruzen chuckled, his tone light but confident. “That’s understandable. Tsunade is brilliant, but as my student, there are things I’ve learned she has yet to explore.”
Then, he clapped his hands sharply, a decisive sound that cut through the atmosphere. Kanna immediately recognized the gesture for what it was: a dismissal.
“Well,” she said, brushing a stray lock of hair from her face, “time to get to work.”
She nodded respectfully toward her father and brother, her green eyes briefly flicking toward the woman in the nondescript mask, her curiosity piqued but unspoken. Then, with the fluidity of a seasoned professional, she turned and made her exit.
Understanding the dismissal, the ANBU operatives followed suit, filing out silently.When the last masked figure disappeared, only three people remained: Hiroto, still standing tall and stiff as ever, their father, and the masked woman.
Hiruzen made a subtle hand sign. The woman did not hesitate before reaching up and removing her mask. Her features were sharp, her light brown hair slightly disheveled beneath her coif. The strange black cracks that marred her face like fractures of obsidian caught Hiroto’s attention immediately.
“This is Nonō Yakushi,” Hiruzen said, his tone calm and measured. “A loyal operative. She’s assisting me in some… very specific work.”
He gave a curt nod, acknowledging her presence without comment. It was not his place to ask.
The silence hung for a moment, stretching like taut string. Then Hiroto broke it, his voice clipped but respectful. “What’s your next step, Father?”
Hiruzen didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he walked toward the corner of the lab, his movements slow but deliberate. He stopped before a large safe embedded in the wall, its surface covered in intricate seals. With a flick of his wrist, he placed his hand on the center seal, letting his chakra flow into it. The safe emitted a faint click before its heavy door swung open. Inside, a series of vials glinted under the sterile lights, each carefully labeled. Hiruzen selected one, holding it up for a moment before turning toward Nonō. “You may begin the analysis. And do not lose any drop!”
Nonō stepped forward, her movements precise as she accepted the vial. Her fingers closed around it with the care of someone handling something far more dangerous than blood.
Hiroto, however, barely registered the exchange. His mind was still reeling from the events of the past twenty-four hours. The revelations had been seismic: the Genjutsu his father had been under for years, Danzo’s treachery, the truth about Orochimaru’s experiments, the fact that some of his own operatives were spies for Danzo — and the horrifying details behind the Uchiha massacre.
And yet, here his father was, moving forward with a clarity and determination that Hiroto hadn’t seen in years. It was almost too much to process.
Finally, he spoke, his voice heavy with the weight of his thoughts. “So, what are we going to do now, Hokage-sama?”
Hiruzen tilted his head slightly, an enigmatic smile forming on his lips. “What do you think about your life as ANBU Commander, Hiroto?”
Hiroto blinked, caught entirely off guard by the abrupt shift. “I…,” he began, but the words faltered. In truth, he had rarely thought about it in personal terms. He had only served, his life defined by duty and unwavering obedience. The question lingered uncomfortably, forcing him into unfamiliar introspection.
“You’re 38,” Hiruzen continued, his tone uncharacteristically conversational. “You have a wife and a son you barely see. I’m the Hokage, and yet I spend more time with Konohamaru than you do. And I probably spent less time with him than I should.”
Hiroto stiffened, his jaw tightening. “Are you…” he began, trailing off, unsure how to even articulate the shock and confusion swirling in his chest. Was his father suggesting he retire? Now, in the midst of a crisis of this magnitude? The thought was absurd, yet it hit a nerve Hiroto had buried deep. It was true—he had considered stepping down more than once, but guilt and the weight of responsibility had always stopped him. To hear his father voice it now felt surreal.
“We’re in the middle of—”
“I know exactly where we are,” Hiruzen interrupted, his voice calm but firm. “And I know what we’re facing. But there is more than one battlefield, Hiroto. Danzo’s strength isn’t just in military power—it’s political. And for far too long, the Sarutobi seat on the Clan Council has been empty. You should think about that.”
— — —
Yamato followed Captain Cat into the Hokage’s laboratory, keeping his pace measured as they descended into the sterile coldness of the room. The scent of disinfectant hung in the air, sharp and invasive. It wasn’t the tools or the harsh lighting that set him on edge—it was the cells. Barely visible in the corners, the faint sound of restrained breathing echoed from them. He kept his mask firmly in place, as much for the sake of his expression as for protocol. Laboratories weren’t unfamiliar to him. They weren’t unfamiliar to Tenzo. And that was precisely the problem. But this one was the Hokage's - the man he trusted and respected the most. The man who had given him a chance to be someone he could be proud of.
The Hokage stood near the far end of the room, beside a woman in black robes. Her face was cracked with jagged black lines that seemed to hum faintly with power, as though the chakra within them couldn’t be contained. A nun? Yamato’s eyes lingered for a moment before he turned back to Captain Cat, who was lowering their target—a sedated boy wrapped in monk robes—onto the floor.
Yamato sighed internally, trying not to let his gaze follow the sway of Cat’s hips as she moved. He scowled behind his mask, more at himself than anything. Professionalism, Tenzo. But it wasn’t his fault she carried herself with such infuriating precision — and such a nice ass.
The boy’s body hit the floor with a soft thud. He looked harmless enough, face slack, head shaved, robes wrinkled from their handling. But Yamato knew better than to take things at face value. He shifted uncomfortably, the questions from the mission still rattling in his head. Why a monk? Why such heavy sedation? And why Captain, the one who had been personally briefed by the Hokage, had told them to treat him like a Jinchuriki? He was sure the boy wasn't a Jinchuriki - every ANBU operative knew the names and identities of the nine Jinchuriki by heart.
Yamato’s curiosity prickled at him, though he kept his posture neutral. The Hokage’s gaze drifted toward him, and a faint smile tugged at the old man’s lips.
“You’re wondering why this boy is so important,” Hiruzen said, his tone inviting rather than accusatory. Yamato smiled - his Kage knew him well, to analyse his thought even when masked - and hesitated. “The instructions were unusual, sir,” he admitted. “We were told to treat him as if he were a Jinchuriki, but that doesn’t align with our knowledge.”
The Hokage nodded, his expression thoughtful. He gestured toward Sora, who remained motionless on the floor.
“This boy, Sora, carries remnants of the Nine-Tails’ chakra,” Hiruzen explained. “After the Nine-Tails attacked the village, fragments of its power lingered. A rogue ninja named Kazuma, once one of the Twelve Guardian Ninja, sought to collect and weaponize that energy. He infused it into his son.”
Yamato’s hands tightened at his sides, his thoughts immediately turning to the dangers of unstable chakra. No wonder they would have needed his Wood Release for containment if they did not manage to sedate him before he woke up.
The Hokage’s tone remained calm, almost conversational, as he gestured toward the clay pot sitting on a pedestal near the corner of the room. Intricate seals coiled across its surface, glowing faintly as though waiting for a command.
“So, we’re going to extract the chakra from Sora’s body,” he said with the same ease one might announce plans to brew tea, “and seal it into that.”
Tenzo stiffened slightly, the words sinking in like cold water. “But… won’t that kill him?” he asked. It wasn’t a protest, exactly—he’d killed plenty in the name of the village. But he was a bit curious.
Cat, standing just ahead of him, turned her head sharply, her irritation practically audible even without words. Yamato didn’t have to see her expression to feel her disapproval. She hated when ANBU operatives questioned the Hokage.
“It’s fine, Cat,” Hiruzen said, waving her off with a small, patient smile. “This is a good learning opportunity.”
Yamato blinked behind his mask. A learning opportunity? For what?
The Hokage turned his attention back to the clay pot. “It’s a fair question,” he said. “Extracting chakra from a true Jinchuriki would kill them, yes. But in this case, the quantity of chakra in Sora’s body—while significant—is a mere fraction of what resides in a true host. And with Nono here—” he gestured toward the nun with cracks running across her face, who stood like a silent statue—“he will survive. Probably.”
Very probably? Yamato wasn’t sure if that was supposed to be reassuring.
“You’ll stay here,” Hiruzen continued, fixing Yamato with a pointed look. “In case things get… messy. Be ready to use your Wood Release.”
Yamato’s eyebrows shot up under his mask. “Wait. We’re unsealing a proto-bijū… right now? Here?”
Hiruzen’s smile shifted slightly, becoming sharper, more amused. “What? Are you afraid, Tenzo? You can leave, if you want - even if the seals were going to fail, I could easily take care of it.".
He was going to say yes—because any sane ninja would be—but before the words could leave his mouth, Cat stepped on his foot. Hard. He bit back a yelp, gritting his teeth as pain shot up his leg. Had she used chakra in that stomp? He wouldn’t put it past her.
“Whatever,” the Hokage said, turning back to the seals without missing a beat. “Edo Tensei is taxing. Maintaining Nono here alone consumes nearly twenty percent of my chakra. If I want to summon additional support or create more durable blood clones, I need a battery. This chakra will do nicely.”
Yamato’s head was spinning. Blood clones? Chakra batteries? The Hokage was operating on a plane so far above the ordinary that it was making him dizzy. But before he could ask for clarification, Hiruzen clapped his hands, and the seals on the pot flared to life.
“Don’t worry,” Hiruzen said, his voice brimming with calm confidence. “This lab is sealed. Not a whiff of the Nine-Tails’ chakra will get out. And if the proto-bijū, as you called it, puts up a fight…” He glanced back with a grin sharp enough to cut steel. “Well, I’ll take care of it. It's nothing dangerous.”
For a moment, Yamato simply stared, struck by the sheer audacity of the man.
Hiruzen stepped forward, his hands moving with the fluid precision of someone who’d been mastering seals longer than most shinobi had been alive. The pot glowed brighter as the script spiraled outward, forming a network of light that wrapped around Sora’s prone body.
The first threads of chakra slithered out of Sora’s body, red and viscous, writhing like sentient tendrils. It wasn’t just energy—it was alive, aware, and malevolent. The air thickened with its emergence, growing so oppressive that Yamato felt it press into his lungs like an unseen hand clawing at his insides. The lights in the room flickered, their steady hum warping into an unsettling drone, and the very walls of the lab seemed to groan in protest.
The chakra coiled upward, a nightmare given form. It moved in unnatural, jerking motions, splitting and reforming into grotesque shapes—an ever-shifting cascade of claws, eyes, and fanged mouths that hissed and snapped at the air. A wet, guttural sound filled the room, somewhere between a growl and a scream, and Yamato realized it was coming from the chakra itself. The red haze carried an oily sheen, as though it were coated in some kind of infernal ichor, dripping onto the floor and sizzling as it burned invisible scars into the stone.
Sora’s body convulsed violently, his back arching as if an invisible puppet master was yanking at his strings. His eyes snapped open, glowing with a sickly, incandescent red that burned with a hatred far older and deeper than the boy himself. Then he screamed—a sound so raw, so primal, it made Yamato’s head pound and his vision blur.
The chakra poured out of him in chaotic waves, each burst a new horror. It clawed at the ceiling, painting it with shadows that danced like specters. The temperature in the room plunged, and yet Yamato felt sweat pouring down his back. The chakra wasn’t just energy—it was a presence, a force that wanted to consume, to annihilate.
Nono stepped forward, unflinching, her hands aglow with green medical chakra. As she pressed her palms against Sora’s heaving chest, one of the tendrils lashed out at her. The impact was instantaneous. Flesh sizzled away from her forearm, peeling back to reveal stark white bone, the chakra eating through her like acid. But she didn’t even blink. Her focus was absolute, her movements mechanical, as though the agony didn’t register.
Yamato stumbled back a half-step, his knees trembling under the crushing weight of the chakra’s presence. His Wood Release pulsed at his fingertips, an instinctive reaction to the sheer madness unraveling in front of him. He could feel the chakra’s intent—a rage so pure it defied comprehension, whispering promises of destruction in voices that weren’t human.
Even Cat, usually as steady as a mountain, shifted, her hand falling to the hilt of her blade. It wasn’t fear—Cat didn’t scare easily—but the raw, predatory instinct to defend herself had kicked in. She’d stepped back, unconsciously, as though retreating from the edge of a cliff that threatened to pull her into a void.
And yet, Hiruzen Sarutobi stood firm in the eye of the storm, unbothered by the nightmare unfurling around him. His hands moved in perfect rhythm, forming seals with a precision that seemed to mock the chaos surrounding him. The chakra lashed out at him, a clawed appendage roaring toward his face, but he swatted it aside with a flicker of his own chakra like it was nothing more than an annoying fly.
“Almost there,” he said, his voice calm, almost bored, as if this was another day at the office.
The seals he wove wrapped themselves around the writhing mass of red energy, tightening with every motion. The chakra screamed, its many mouths opening wide in a futile attempt to resist, but Hiruzen was unrelenting. He didn’t rush. He didn’t flinch. He moved with the quiet confidence of a man who had seen far worse and survived.
Finally, with a deafening crack, the last tendrils of chakra snapped free from Sora’s body, spiraling violently into the clay pot. The seals on its surface flared white-hot before settling back into a faint glow, locking the monstrous energy away.
The oppressive weight in the room vanished instantly. Yamato staggered forward, gasping for air as his knees threatened to give out entirely. His chest heaved, his body trembling from the effort of simply enduring the ordeal. Even Cat exhaled audibly, her hand slowly dropping from her blade.
“Done,” Hiruzen said, his tone as casual as if he’d just finished sweeping the porch. He turned to Yamato and Cat, his smile easy, his posture relaxed. “See? Nothing to worry about.”
Yamato stared at him, his mind struggling to reconcile the calm, smiling man before him with the sheer horror they’d just survived. The Hokage had faced an eldritch monstrosity without so much as breaking a sweat.
Incredible, Yamato thought. He was truly the God of Shinobi.
“Now,” Hiruzen said, his voice casual as if the room hadn’t just been the epicenter of an eldritch nightmare. He glanced at Sora, who was now snoring loudly despite the faint scorch marks still clinging to his robes. “Go put him back in his room at the Temple of Fire. Make sure you’re not spotted—Chiriku won’t be pleased to find out we borrowed him.”
“Yes, Hokage-sama,” Yamato said, his voice steady despite the tremor still coursing through his body. He stepped forward, already thinking through the logistics of transporting the boy without drawing attention. He bent to lift Sora, but Hiruzen’s voice stopped him in his tracks.
“Oh, and Yamato,” the Hokage said, his eyes glinting with a mischievous amusement, “since it seems you’re not particularly fond of dangerous missions, I have something more your speed. Once you’re done, use your Wood Release to build me an amphitheater. I need it ready in a few days.”
Yamato protested, his shoulders tightening. “Hokage-sama, I’m ready for dangerous missions,” he said, trying to keep the edge out of his voice.
“Ah, excellent,” Hiruzen said, smiling wider. “Then, you won’t mind being part of the team that will have to track and kill mission to track and eliminate Hoshigaki Kisame? I should issue it in a few days.”
“How big should the amphitheater be, sir?”