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— — —
.
Tsunade skimmed the top page of the personnel file, tapped her pen once against the desk, then marked the corner with a small stroke. The report she was reading alongside it had been carefully worded, but the truth was plain: the patient nearly died because someone got lazy, so she set it aside for a follow-up review and reached for the next.
Half the stack was just staffing—hospital rotations, genin field assignments, trauma coverage for the border patrol. It wasn't glamorous, but it kept people alive. The hospital had a few people who normally handled this, but she had wanted to gain at least a passing familiarity with the current crop of medics she was in charge of, so she had elected to do it herself this time.
With a sigh, she scratched a quick note at the bottom of a shift ledger and muttered, "Split the rookies. Put at least one senior with them, or someone is going to lose a limb."
By the time Shizune stuck her head through the door to announce she'd fix the two of them some tea, Tsunade already had three post-mission injury reports open in front of her. One of them described a jonin with damage to his tenketsu system after prolonged exposure to Sand-based toxins—unfamiliar ones. She frowned at the phrasing, flipped to the appendix, and read it again.
"This isn't the Sand's work," she murmured. "Too clean." She added the note to a growing pile labelled 'unknown compound profiles' and reached for a clean scroll. Another page in the new registry.
She was halfway through sketching a chakra circulation model when she stopped, stared at it, then scratched out the entire arc with a curse. It took the heavy clink of a mug against her table for her to notice Shizune had entered the room and was sitting opposite her.
"Thanks," Tsunade muttered over her drink as she took a slow, scalding sip.
Shizune set her mug down, hands in her lap. "When's the first one coming?"
Looking over her schedule for the day, Tsunade glanced over the time slots she'd appointed each of the people Naruto had recommended. There were more for her than Jiraiya, but that was a given when considering the kind of people the two of them were. Jiraiya was never one to sit still, and even now, he was only staying to help her establish herself in the village.
Once that was done, he'd return to his wandering and visit every so often with intel.
"In an hour," Tsunade replied.
"Do you want me to intimidate them a little?" she asked with a small smile. "I can be strict when I want to."
Tsunade looked up from her paperwork and truly saw Shizune for the first time that morning. Her assistant's smile was gentle but genuine, the kind of expression that had steadied Tsunade through countless hangovers, gambling losses, and moments of doubt.
"No," Tsunade said finally, setting down her pen. "No intimidation necessary."
She pushed her chair back slightly, creating space between herself and the endless administrative work that now defined her days. There was something she'd been meaning to discuss, something that had weighed on her mind since accepting this position.
"We need to talk, Shizune."
Shizune's smile faltered. "Have I done something wrong?"
"Just the opposite." Tsunade gestured to the countless files and reports surrounding them. "You've been managing half my workload, scheduling my appointments, preparing my notes, handling the hospital administration, and still finding time to brew perfect tea. You've been doing it for years now, not just here."
Shizune relaxed slightly. "That's my job. I'm your assistant."
"And you've been excellent at it," Tsunade agreed. "But I've been thinking lately about what that means."
She reached for her tea, taking another slow sip before continuing.
"When you joined me, I was... lost. Drowning in sake and debt, running from my responsibilities. You weren't just my assistant then—you were my caretaker, my conscience, but things are different now. I'm not running anymore."
"I don't understand," Shizune said, though the slight tremor in her voice suggested otherwise.
"I'm relieving you of your position as my assistant."
Shizune's eyes widened. "What? Why?"
"Because I've been holding you back," Tsunade said firmly. "You're one of the most talented medical ninja I've ever trained, with combat skills to match. You deserve more than spending your days managing my schedule and pouring my tea."
"I don't mind—"
"But I do," Tsunade cut in. "I'm not the same broken woman you followed from gambling den to gambling den. I don't need a caretaker anymore."
Shizune's face fell, and she looked down at her hands. "So you don't need me anymore."
Tsunade sighed, momentarily closing her eyes. When she opened them, her gaze was softer. "That's not what I said. The village needs you. I need you, just not as my shadow." She reached across the desk to touch Shizune's hand. "Think about it, Shizune. When was the last time you took on your own missions? Led your own team? Developed new medical techniques without worrying about whether I'd approved them first?"
Shizune remained silent, but Tsunade could see the thoughts turning behind her eyes.
"You've spent years of your life taking care of me," Tsunade continued. "It's time I returned the favour by letting you go."
"And what would I do instead?" Shizune asked, her voice small.
"Whatever you want. Take missions. Work at the hospital full-time. Research new poisons. The point is, it would be your choice, not something you do because I need it."
Shizune pulled her hand away, standing abruptly. "I need to think about this."
"Of course," Tsunade nodded. "Take all the time you need—and remember, you're still welcome to live with me. That won't ever change, but you're free to pursue your own ninja way, as the old man would say."
When Shizune reached the door, she paused without turning around. "Your first appointment will still be here in an hour. Should I tell them to wait in the hall when they arrive?"
"Yes, thank you," Tsunade replied carefully.
As the door closed behind her, Tsunade sighed and rubbed her temples. Perhaps she could have handled that better, but it needed to be said. She had recognised her own patterns of dependency too late—first on Dan, then on alcohol, gambling, and finally on Shizune.
Breaking the last of those chains was necessary, even if it hurt them both temporarily.
.
— — —
.
"Shikaku's kid?" was the first thing Tsunade said when the first name on the list stepped through the door. "Isn't becoming a medical ninja exactly like the kind of fuss you don't want to be involved in?"
Shikamaru slouched into the room, hands shoved deep in his pockets. His expression showed mild annoyance despite voluntarily coming to the meeting in the first place.
"I thought the same thing," he admitted with a lazy shrug. "But Naruto can be... persistent when he wants something."
Tsunade leaned back in her chair, studying the young Nara with a mix of curiosity and scepticism. "So you're here because Naruto badgered you into it? That doesn't sound like a particularly compelling reason to pursue medical training."
"If that were the only reason, I wouldn't have bothered showing up," Shikamaru replied, his gaze sharpening slightly as he met her eyes. "It's a drag to explain, but I've been thinking about this since the invasion. Naruto was just the… final push, so to speak, and you the perfect opportunity."
Tsunade raised an eyebrow, waiting for him to continue.
"Our jonin sensei was preoccupied, so I was in charge," he said, his voice dropping lower. "We all nearly died. Kiba lost an eye." He paused, and Tsunade could see the weight of responsibility in his eyes—a look she recognised all too well. "If Rock Lee hadn't saved us, we probably would have died. I had strategies for fighting, for moving forward, for retreat... but nothing for keeping my team alive once they were down."
"That's what field medics are for," Tsunade pointed out.
"Except we didn't have one," Shikamaru countered. "And we won't always have one."
He shifted his weight, looking briefly at the ceiling before continuing. "I've analysed every mission configuration the village has deployed in the last five years. Teams with at least one member with basic medical training have a 37% higher survival rate."
Tsunade couldn't help but smile slightly. This was indeed Shikaku's son, presenting his case with carefully researched statistics rather than emotion. And funnily enough, he landed on the same conclusion that she had all those years ago.
And yet her medical reforms were too costly to implement in the middle of war—but that was then, and this was now.
"You want to be that member for your team," she stated rather than asked.
"I'm not aiming to be a full medical ninja," Shikamaru clarified. "Just enough to stabilise critical injuries in the field. Enough to buy time and keep people alive. My hijutsu is too useful to keep off the battlefield… and I want to protect my teammates."
"You realise medical ninjutsu requires precise chakra control and extensive memorisation of anatomical structures?" Tsunade challenged. "It's not just about knowing a few handy techniques."
Shikamaru sighed heavily. "Yeah, I figured it would be troublesome that way. But my chakra control is decent, and I've got a good memory when I bother to use it."
Tsunade drummed her fingers on her desk, considering the young shinobi before her. There was something compelling about his practical approach—not driven by ambition or glory, but by a cold, logical assessment of what would keep his comrades alive.
"Most people who come to me for training want to heal because of some personal tragedy or heroic ideal," she said. "Your approach is... refreshingly pragmatic."
"Is that a yes or a no?" Shikamaru asked, clearly ready to accept either answer with the same nonchalant attitude.
Tsunade picked up her pen and made a notation beside his name on her list. "...It's a yes, with conditions. You'll need to demonstrate your chakra control first, and I won't tolerate half-hearted effort, no matter how troublesome you find the work."
He nodded.
"And Shikamaru?" Tsunade added as he turned to leave. "Don't think I don't see what you're really doing. Taking on medical training isn't just about practical survival rates. It's about making sure you never have to feel that helplessness again—watching your teammates suffer while you can do nothing but wait for help."
Something flickered across Shikamaru's normally impassive face—a brief recognition that she had seen through his carefully constructed rationale to the emotional core he tried so hard to hide.
"Like I said," he responded quietly, "it would be a drag to explain."
As the door closed behind him, Tsunade made another note in his file. Beneath all that calculated laziness was a leader who took responsibility for his people—the most essential quality she looked for in any medical ninja.
"Next," she called, reaching for the second folder on her desk.
Sakura Haruno entered the room with carefully measured steps. Her command over her nerves was alright enough, seeing that it took her a deep breath to meet Tsunade's eyes and introduce herself. As she began to speak, her demeanour solidified through her words, and Tsunade found her gaze falling to the girl's file.
Her academy records showed exceptional intelligence and perfect chakra control, but a lack of practical combat experience and physical conditioning. More recent notes from Kakashi, however, indicated significant improvement in her conditioning, and her judgment in the invasion itself was commendable.
When questioned about her motivations, Sakura didn't mince words. She was tired of watching the backs of her teammates, tired of being protected. If nothing else, the combination of her capabilities and mentality would make her a decent medical ninja.
Tsunade made extensive notes in Sakura's file. She would be an investment of time and effort compared to Shikamaru Nara, but her instincts told her it would pay dividends for both the girl and the village.
"Next," she called, placing Sakura's folder on top of Shikamaru's.
The fourth folder Tsunade pulled towards her belonged to one Hinata Hyuuga, the second clan heir to enter her office. She browsed through it carefully, noting the contrast between earlier assessments and more recent ones. The earliest reports described a timid, unconfident child struggling under the weight of clan expectations.
But the more recent evaluations painted a different picture—a kunoichi who had found her footing, whose gentle nature belied a quiet resilience and growing technical proficiency.
When Hinata entered the room, she moved with the fluid grace characteristic of the Hyuuga clan, without the stiffness Tsunade often associated with them. She described her interest in medical ninjutsu not as an escape from combat roles, but as a natural extension of her Byakugan's abilities and her clan's precise chakra techniques.
And Tsunade was inclined to agree. The Hyuuga were generally superior medics in their ability to diagnose injuries and illnesses, and their more in-depth understanding of chakra due to its visual component.
The girl's unique perspective on the healing arts was even more interesting. Hinata had already begun theorising ways to integrate the Gentle Fist and medical ninjutsu—adapting the Gentle Fist's precision to manipulate tenketsu and take more of the burden off injured patients' chakra networks.
That alone was more initiative than any applicant had shown thus far.
Hinata herself was a refreshing presence, especially coming from a clan known for its rigid hierarchies and harsh judgments. By the time Hinata departed, Tsunade had made a note to discuss with Hiashi about adjusting Hinata's clan training schedule, anticipating some resistance but confident that the potential benefits would win him over.
She placed Hinata's folder in the same pile as Shikamaru and Sakura's before she reached for the fourth folder and called out for the next applicant.
Tenten was the final candidate to enter Tsunade's office for the day. Unlike those before her, she strode in with unmistakable purpose. Before Tsunade could even begin her questioning, Tenten spoke.
"Ma'am, I know what this office is, but I'm not interested in learning medical ninjutsu."
The directness caught Tsunade off guard. After a series of slightly predictable but otherwise interesting interviews, this abrupt change of course was almost refreshing.
Tsunade leaned back, eyebrow raised. "Is that so? Then what exactly are you here for?"
"Your strength technique," Tenten replied without hesitation. "I want to learn how to shatter the earth with a single blow and lift impossibly heavy stuff."
Tsunade studied the young kunoichi with renewed interest. Most shinobi who sought her out were drawn to her medical expertise, not her combat abilities. She reached for Tenten's file, flipping it open as she considered her response.
"That's quite an unusual request," she finally said. "My strength technique isn't something I typically teach."
"I understand that," Tenten acknowledged. "But I've admired the Senju clan since I was a child, particularly your grandfather, Lord First."
Tsunade's eyes narrowed as she scanned the file before her. Tenten's weapons proficiency scores were exceptional, far beyond what most chunin typically achieved. There were notes about her accuracy being "nearly perfect" and her growing collection of rare kinds of weapons from across the world.
"My grandfather's mastery of weapons…" Tsunade murmured, looking up at Tenten with fresh understanding. "That knowledge is essentially extinct now. Few remember that aspect of his abilities."
"But it's documented," Tenten countered. "I've studied every scroll I could find. His proficiency with weapons was just as remarkable as his Wood-Release, even if it wasn't as flashy. Everyone knows about that massive scroll he hefted around on his back!" There was unmistakable passion in her voice now. "I want to follow that path—combining weapons mastery with crazy strength. When my weapons aren't enough, I need something that will be."
Tsunade continued reading through the file. Tenten's performance during the recent invasion had been noteworthy—she had held her position against superior numbers, demonstrating both skill and tactical awareness. Her general physical condition and taijutsu ratings had improved dramatically under Might Gai's tutelage, though they still lagged behind her weapons expertise.
"You realise my strength technique isn't just about chakra control," Tsunade said carefully. "There's more to it than that."
"I know," Tenten replied, though Tsunade could tell she didn't fully understand. Few people realised that Tsunade's strength came partly from years of self-experimentation with her own body's limits—a dangerous process she had refined through her medical knowledge alongside Orochimaru.
Tsunade closed the folder and studied Tenten thoughtfully. The girl's determination was evident, but was she prepared for what this training would actually entail?
"Learning this technique would require intensive study of anatomy and chakra pathways," she explained. "In the end, you'd still end up studying medical ninjutsu to a degree anyway."
"I'm prepared for that," Tenten said firmly. "I understand precision—it's the foundation of weapons mastery."
Something about her conviction reminded Tsunade of herself at that age—focused, determined, unwilling to accept limitations. And there was merit to the girl's vision: combining enhanced strength with weapons expertise could create a formidable fighting style that hadn't been seen for generations.
"Very well," Tsunade decided—if nothing else, it would be an interesting endeavour. "But we'll start with the basics. Before you can learn to shatter earth, you need to understand exactly what you're doing."
Relief and excitement flashed across Tenten's face, though she quickly composed herself. "Thank you! When do we begin?"
"Tomorrow morning at five, training ground three," Tsunade replied. "Bring your weapons—all of them. If we're going to do this, I want to see if you're worth teaching in the first place."
As Tenten bowed and turned to leave, Tsunade found herself smiling slightly. The girl had effectively controlled their entire conversation from the moment she walked in—and that rarely happened to Tsunade.
Perhaps there was more to Tenten than her file suggested.
Tsunade placed the folder on top of the others she had selected. Four candidates, each with different motivations and abilities, but all showing promise in unique ways. It was more than she had expected when she agreed to Naruto's request.
She leaned back in her chair, picturing the four young shinobi in her mind. Shikamaru with his tactical mind and reluctant leadership. Sakura with her perfect chakra control and determination to forge her path. Hinata with her Byakugan and innovative approach to healing. And finally, Tenten, seeking to revive a nearly forgotten combat style.
"Lady Tsunade?"
Tsunade looked up to find Shizune sticking her head through the door. "You're still here?"
"...I can't just leave immediately," Shizune replied with a slight bow of her head.
"Are you pouting?"
"When are we heading to the hospital?" Shizune asked with an uncharacteristic forcefulness.
Tsunade chuckled. "Right now, actually. You don't believe I forgot about that, did you? Kurenai is a girl's name. No way I'd miss seeing who's got that brat Asuma by the balls. Who do you take me for?"
"You've forgotten many important things," Shizune replied.
Tsunade gave her a look as she slung her haori over her shoulders. "You're more feisty than usual. You've got to understand, Shizune, I'm holding you back—"
"It's not that, and I understand—believe me." She turned around with a smirk and said, "I just no longer have to worry about you paying me."
That got a laugh out of her as she closed the door and stretched the muscles in her neck.
"Let's go and see what the damage is."
.
— — —
.
The walk to the hospital was quiet, Tsunade's heels clicking against the pavement as she and Shizune moved through the evening streets of Konoha. Occasionally, villagers would bow or offer respectful greetings to her, which Tsunade acknowledged with brief nods.
"What exactly happened to Kurenai Yuhi?" Tsunade asked as they approached the hospital entrance. "Asuma wasn't very specific in his request a few nights ago."
"From what I understand, she encountered Itachi Uchiha during his brief return to the village a few weeks ago," Shizune explained. "She was caught in his genjutsu while trying to protect Kakashi and has been unconscious since."
Tsunade could feel her expression darken at the news.
The hospital staff straightened noticeably as Tsunade walked through the doors, several medics rushing to provide updates on various patients. She waved them off, focused solely on reaching Kurenai's room. Outside the door, they found Asuma pacing, cigarette conspicuously absent from his fingers—hospital rules, though it clearly hadn't lessened his craving based on how his fingers twitched. Nearby, Kakashi leaned against the wall, his visible eye fixed on some distant point, his usual book nowhere to be seen.
"How is she?" Tsunade asked without preamble.
Asuma looked up, relief washing over his face at the sight of her. "No change."
Tsunade brushed past both men, Shizune following closely behind. "Save the guilt for later. Let me see her."
The room was dim, curtains drawn against the midday light. Kurenai lay still on the hospital bed, her skin paler than usual, making the contrast with her dark hair even more striking. Medical monitors beeped steadily beside her, displaying vital signs that, while stable, showed the characteristic patterns of someone trapped in a deep genjutsu-induced coma.
Tsunade moved to Kurenai's side, her hands already glowing with diagnostic chakra as she placed them gently on either side of the woman's head.
"Her chakra network is strained," she murmured, more to herself than anyone else. "Particularly around the temporal lobe. Shizune, get me her chart, please." As Shizune handed over the medical records, Tsunade examined them briefly before returning her attention to Kurenai. "The brain activity suggests she's been processing an enormous amount of information."
"Can you help her?" Asuma asked from the doorway, his voice tightly controlled.
"I can," Tsunade replied, setting the chart aside. "But this kind of damage is tricky. I need to stabilise her chakra pathways first, then gradually bring her consciousness back to reality without shocking her system. Not to mention the trauma from whatever the bastard put her through."
"...Oh."
She placed her hands on Kurenai's temples, green healing chakra pulsing rhythmically. "This will take some time. You two," she nodded toward Asuma and Kakashi, "might as well wait outside."
"I'd prefer to stay," Asuma said firmly.
Tsunade gave him a measured look, almost saying no, but relented. "Fine. Just stay out of the way."
For nearly an hour, Tsunade worked methodically, occasionally requesting assistance from Shizune when needed. The room remained quiet except for the soft hum of healing chakra and the steady beeping of monitors.
Finally, Tsunade stepped back, wiping a thin sheen of sweat from her brow. "She should wake soon. Her chakra pathways are stabilised, and I've given a cursory glance over the rest of her—she's fine."
As if on cue, Kurenai's eyelids fluttered. She drew in a sharp breath, her body tensing momentarily before her crimson eyes opened fully, unfocused at first but gradually sharpening.
"Where—" she began, her voice hoarse from disuse.
"The General Hospital," Tsunade answered before Asuma could rush forward. "Take it slow, Yuhi. You've been under for a good couple of weeks."
Kurenai's eyes darted around the room, taking in Tsunade, Shizune, and finally landing on Asuma and Kakashi. For a moment, fear flickered across her face—then recognition, followed by relief.
"Itachi Uchiha," she said. "Is he—"
"Gone," Kakashi assured her. "Along with his partner. The village is safe."
Asuma moved closer to her bedside, relieved but still visibly tense. "How do you feel?"
Kurenai tried to sit up, wincing slightly before Tsunade placed a firm hand on her shoulder to keep her down. "Exhausted," she admitted. "And weak, but…"
A strange expression crossed her face—something almost like wonder mixed with professional fascination.
"What is it?" Tsunade asked, recognising the look of someone making unexpected connections.
"His genjutsu," Kurenai said slowly, her voice growing stronger. "The Tsukuyomi, he called it. It was... remarkable."
Asuma's brow furrowed in concern. "Remarkable isn't the word I'd use for something that puts you in a coma."
"No, you don't understand," Kurenai insisted, hunched over and haggard. "The layering of the illusions, the complete control over the victim's perception of time, the seamless transitions between different scenarios…" She paused, seeming to realise how her enthusiasm might sound. "I mean, it was horrible to experience, but the technique itself…"
"Gave you ideas," Tsunade finished for her, a knowing smile tugging at her lips. Being one herself, she recognised the look of a specialist who had just discovered a new horizon in their field.
Many a time, Tsunade had realised something in Orochimaru's research that, while morally dubious, was fascinating. Not to mention, she would have never made the headway that she did in her self-experimentation without his input.
"Exactly," Kurenai nodded, a spark of excitement in her eyes despite her exhaustion. "There are elements I could adapt, ways to enhance my own genjutsu even further. The principles behind time dilation alone could revolutionise how I approach complex illusions."
Kakashi stepped closer. "Learning from a technique that nearly killed you is one way to grow."
Kurenai attempted to sit up again, and this time Tsunade allowed it, helping her adjust the pillows behind her back. "Being trapped in it was... educational."
Asuma looked torn between relief at her recovery and concern about her apparent enthusiasm. "Maybe we should talk about this after you've rested properly. You're reminding me of Naruto… and not in a good way."
"She's right, though," Tsunade mused, checking Kurenai's vitals one more time. "Some of the most significant advances in any shinobi field came from analysing enemy techniques. If she can adapt what she experienced into her arsenal without the harmful effects…"
Kurenai nodded, her hollowed eyes eager at the prospect. "If I could have some paper—"
"That I can do, but only with the promise that you'll wait on practice," Tsunade cut her off firmly. "Your mind needs rest, even if your enthusiasm doesn't." She turned to Asuma. "She'll need to stay overnight for observation, but barring any complications, she can be released tomorrow afternoon."
Asuma nodded gratefully. "Thank you, Tsuna."
"Don't thank me yet," she replied with a slight smile. He'd taken to calling her that when his underdeveloped tongue couldn't manage to pronounce her full name. "You're the one who's going to have to deal with her when she starts experimenting with new genjutsu techniques, and something tells me she's not going to waste any time."
As they left Kurenai's room, with strict instructions for her to rest, Kakashi fell into step beside Tsunade.
"You seem amused," he observed quietly.
She glanced back at Kurenai, who was already staring into the middle distance with the characteristic look of someone deep in thought as the door closed.
"It's not often you see someone turn a near-death experience into a professional development opportunity," Tsunade replied. "But that's shinobi for you. We adapt, we learn, and we survive." She glanced back toward Kurenai's room, where Asuma had remained behind. "Sometimes, if we're lucky, we find someone who gives us a reason to do more than just survive."
Tsunade's thoughts momentarily drifted to faces long gone, right before Naruto's unnecessarily serious expression flashed through her mind and made her snort. Then she straightened her shoulders and continued down the hallway.
"Shizune," she called, "let's check on the other critical patients while we're here. I want a full assessment of the hospital's current status before lunchtime. And before you complain, you're the one who insisted on sticking with me until you can figure out what you want to do with your life."
As the afternoon stretched on, Tsunade found herself oddly energised by the day's events—from the promising young shinobi she'd interviewed to Kurenai Yuhi's resilient spirit. And despite her misgivings and the grim welcoming party, she couldn't help but admit that returning to the village hadn't been such a bad decision after all.
Not that she'd ever let Naruto find out that she felt that way.
.
— — —
.
Sasuke passed through the restricted area separating the ANBU headquarters from the village with a strange bemusement as he walked. Over the past few weeks, it had become a routine procedure. People in regular clothes milled about as if the signs on the barbed wire a mile back didn't read Authorised Personnel Only—but for anyone without clearance, this part of the village was strictly off-limits.
Most of the businesses existed either to supply the headquarters or functioned as cover jobs for operatives—paper-thin pretences masking their real roles. Other restricted zones like this were scattered throughout the village, each with its own legitimate purpose, but all doubling as camouflage for ANBU personnel to blend into what seemed like regular life.
He'd grown accustomed to the occasional glance thrown his way by the operatives he happened to pass inside headquarters. His instructor had told him plainly—it wasn't recruitment season. The sight of a non-ANBU within these walls was bound to draw eyes.
The Uchiha crest on his back earned him even more attention here. He had expected as much, even if his instructor hadn't explicitly warned him. He was prepared for it.
At the reception, as always, he was asked to deposit any outside weapons into a tray. After his first visit, he no longer bothered bringing them—he'd learnt the hassle of reclaiming them on the way out wasn't worth it. Besides, the ANBU's own selection of training weaponry—whether by standard or by Danzo's quiet influence—was a cut above anything he normally carried.
He navigated the corridors to the training halls on his own. The silence of the place no longer unsettled him. These particular halls were rarely used. According to his instructor, superior facilities existed in another restricted section of the village. The headquarters, for the most part, were reserved for administration and recruitment.
Inside, the room was wide and windowless, the high ceiling supported by exposed steel beams painted a dull, unassuming grey. The walls were lined with tatami-like padding, though darker, tougher—made not for ceremony, but for impact. Scorch marks and deep gouges scored parts of the surface, remnants of past sparring sessions that no one had bothered to repair. ANBU training didn't prioritise aesthetics.
The floor was a smooth, reinforced surface—chalk white, scuffed and faded with time. A few racks of weapons stood in minimalist alcoves along one side: practice kunai, blunted tanto, staves. Nothing labelled. Nothing locked. The lighting came from recessed strips along the ceiling, casting a pale, sterile glow that left no shadows to hide in. It was the kind of space that swallowed sound.
Every footstep felt too loud, and every breath oddly exposed. There were no mirrors, no emblems, no decoration of any sort. When Sasuke entered, Baku was already there, everything save for his head hidden under a dark robe. The only sign he'd noticed Sasuke was the slow tilt of his head, the dark eyes behind the mask unreadable as ever.
His instructor's mask was stark white, shaped with subtle asymmetry that gave it an uncanny quality. It was modelled after a tapir—a nod to the mythological Baku of old folklore, a creature said to devour dreams and nightmares.
The elongated snout curved downwards in a quiet sneer, and the eye-holes were narrow, angular, giving the impression of someone always scrutinising. Faint grey markings curled along the edges like smoke, hinting at tusks or swirling clouds, though the design stopped short of flamboyance.
The mask turned slightly. "You're early," Baku said at last. His voice came flat and reedy through the slits in the tapir mask. "That's good. Shows you're ready."
There was a brief pause, then the rustle of Baku's robes as he stepped aside. Behind him, on a small weapons rack that hadn't been there the day before, lay two items: a small, lacquered wooden box and a folder sealed with wax and twine.
"The preliminary phase of your training is complete," Baku said. "You've demonstrated fitness for assignment. Now comes the matter of placement."
He gestured toward the box and the folder.
"One belongs to the Domestic Division. The other, Foreign. You'll only open one."
Sasuke's gaze flicked between the two objects, then returned to Baku's mask. "I thought you'd tell me where I was being placed."
"I could," Baku replied. "But then we wouldn't learn anything."
The silence between them thickened. From the hallway beyond the door, there was nothing; no footfalls, no echoes. Only the electric hum of the ceiling lights and the sound of Sasuke's own breathing.
Baku went on. "Domestic operates within the Land of Fire, protecting our village's interests. Surveillance, internal counterintelligence, political shadow-work, the elimination of traitors, etc. If something festers inside the Land of Fire, you'll be there to cut it out."
He nodded once toward the second object.
"Foreign is different. You'll vanish. No name, no clan, no ties. You'll cross borders under false identities. Missions last months, sometimes years. You'll collect intel, destabilise enemies, disappear into foreign soil and leave behind only questions. The people who choose this don't usually come back the same. Some don't come back at all."
Still, Baku made no move to suggest which was his own preference.
"Now decide. Stay close to the fire, or walk beyond the treeline, then, I'll assign you to a unit."
Sasuke's hand moved deliberately, bypassing the box and coming to rest on the sealed folder. His fingers pressed against the wax, feeling the subtle resistance before he slid it towards himself.
"Domestic," he said, without looking up.
Baku gave no reaction. Not that Sasuke had expected one. He tucked the folder under his arm, but stood there a moment longer. His instructor watched him in silence. In Sasuke's mind, the decision had crystallised the moment the word rogue had left Baku's mouth. It wasn't spoken outright, but it didn't need to be.
Domestic was about internal threats, and among them—him.
Itachi.
The thought cut through him like a bitter wind. He had been here in this village not long ago, and Sasuke had missed him. Missed the one chance he'd had in years because he'd been buried under protocol and silent drills and masked men reciting cold lessons in colder halls.
Training and preparing.
The irony burned in his throat.
All the strength in the world meant nothing if he wasn't there to use it. He'd been so busy learning the ANBU's ways—learning to track, to kill, to vanish, memorising his cover—that he hadn't seen the one thing he'd sworn he would never look away from again.
But this... this was the correction.
The Domestic Division hunted threats like Itachi. If there was a place in the village where whispers about his brother still circulated—about his defection, about his movements, about what he'd left behind—this was where they would surface.
And if Itachi had once walked these halls in a mask of his own, then Sasuke would surpass even the ghost of that reputation.
Baku finally spoke.
"Open that folder and head to the restricted area to report to your lieutenant. They'll assign you to a squad. Since you'll be participating in tomorrow's Chunin Promotion Ceremony, you won't receive any missions until after that, but take today to settle in and get to know your teammates."
Sasuke gave a small nod.
From his robe, Baku drew a black-wrapped bundle and held it out. "No ceremony. No applause. Just this."
Sasuke took it. Inside was a white mask, long and narrow, shaped like a serpent. The slits for eyes were sharp, slanted downward, watching. A single purple curve ran along the crown like the hint of a scale.
"Welcome to the ANBU, Hebi," Baku said.
Sasuke paused at the name. It was an obvious nod to the Cursed Seal curled against his shoulder. A reminder of his talk with Danzo in the restaurant all those weeks ago.
He held the mask up to his face, looked through it at Baku, nodded once, and walked out.
.
— — —
.
His first thought, stepping out into the corridor with the serpent mask in hand, was that he wouldn't wear it yet. Not here, where he didn't know the protocols. Besides, hiding his identity in a place like the ANBU was always going to be a pipe dream, especially given the nature of his recruitment. The weight of the mask in his hand was strange—lighter than he'd expected, yet somehow heavier with its meaning. He slipped it into his tunic.
The restricted folder felt even weightier. Sasuke broke the seal as he walked, skimming the contents. His assignment was to the Domestic Division's Purge Unit and was to report to Lieutenant Takara in the northeast section of the headquarter's compound. The folder contained sparse details beyond that—just a map with a route marked in red, clearance codes for the security checkpoints, and a thin outline of basic protocols.
No mention of what squad he'd be joining, though the four squads under the Purge Unit were headed by Byakko, Suzaku, Seiryu, and Genbu. Who he'd fall under would come from Takara, he supposed.
The route took him deeper into ANBU headquarters than he'd been before. Each successive checkpoint featured more scrutiny, despite the clearance. The shinobi manning these stations wore full masks rather than the half-face coverings of the outer security personnel. Their eyes tracked him through narrow slits as they verified his documents, their postures rigid.
One of them, a broad-shouldered operative with a bear mask, held onto Sasuke's papers just a fraction longer than necessary.
"Uchiha," the man said, the word itself an accusation.
Sasuke met the gaze behind the mask evenly. The bear mask tilted slightly, considering him. Then the papers were thrust back into his hand, and a curt nod signalled him forward.
This kind of interaction, Sasuke suspected, would become routine.
The northeast section was markedly different from the training halls. The corridors were narrower, the ceiling lower, the lighting somehow more targeted, creating pockets of shadow between doorways. There was activity here—masked operatives moving with purpose, some in full gear, others in training attire. Many carried specialised equipment or sealed scrolls.
Lieutenant Takara's office was marked only by a small plaque bearing her name, and the door was ajar. Inside, the space was cramped by design, the walls lined with sealed cabinets. A single desk dominated the room, its surface orderly despite the numerous files stacked upon it.
Behind it sat a woman in a full ANBU uniform minus the mask, which rested at her elbow.
Her face was unremarkable by shinobi standards—sharp-featured with close-cropped hair and a scar that traced from her temple to the edge of her jaw. What made her distinctive was her expression—analytical, calculating, as if she were cataloguing every detail about Sasuke from the moment he entered.
"Sasuke Uchiha. Codename Hebi. I'm Lieutenant Takara. Welcome to the Purge Unit," she continued, gesturing to the seat across from her desk. As Sasuke sat, she pulled a slim file from the top of her stack and opened it. "I oversee all four squads within the unit. You'll be assigned to Squad One—Termination and Pursuit," She glanced up. "Given your... specific talents and objectives, it seemed the most appropriate placement."
The implication was clear enough. They knew what he wanted. Who he was after.
"You'll report directly to your Squad Leader, but he's currently en route back from a mission, but will be here by tomorrow evening after your promotion ceremony." She slid a thin folder across the desk. "These are the personnel files for your squad. Memorise and then burn it."
Sasuke took the folder but didn't open it yet.
"I should be transparent with you, Uchiha," Takara said, leaning forward slightly. "Your placement here isn't without... complications."
"Because of my brother," Sasuke said flatly.
A flicker of approval crossed her face at his directness. "Partially. Itachi Uchiha was ANBU before his defection, but it's more than that. The timing of your induction, coming so close after his recent... appearance in the village, has raised eyebrows."
"And how was I to know he was here?" Sasuke asked.
Takara seemed to read something from his face because she shifted topics. "Captain Shun, the man above me in this pecking order, is... particularly invested in the preservation of valuable village assets. Including the last loyal carrier of the Sharingan."
"I didn't join the ANBU to be coddled," he said.
"No," Takara agreed. "You joined to hunt your brother. A personal vendetta isn't typically ANBU material, but these are unusual times." She closed his file. "Report to Training Room Six in an hour. You'll meet your team there. Until then, familiarise yourself with those files."
"Understood."
As Sasuke turned to leave, she added, "And Uchiha? Whether you wear your mask or not, Sasuke doesn't exist within these walls when you enter that room. Only Hebi does. The more you get used to that codename, the better."
.
— — —
.
Training Room Six was larger than the one he'd trained in with Baku, with higher ceilings and specialised equipment lining the walls. Combat dummies were positioned throughout the space, each marked with precise target points in red. Several operatives were already present when Sasuke entered, the serpent mask cool against his face.
A few of his squadmates weren't wearing their masks, but he thought he'd wear it to get used to the feel of the material against his face. Three figures paused their activities to observe his arrival, though only one was wearing a mask. The tension in the room shifted immediately, the air growing heavier with unspoken assessment.
The tallest of the three approached first—a lean figure in standard ANBU gear with an owl mask decorated with stark red lines around the eyes. "You must be our newbie," he said, voice neutral behind the porcelain. "I'm Fukuro. Second-in-command until Byakko returns."
He made no move to shake hands or otherwise welcome Sasuke, instead turning to gesture at the others. "Kitsune," he indicated a medium-built operative with a fox mask bearing subtle orange markings. Then to a shorter, compact figure with a badger mask: "And that's Mujina."
The badger mask tilted in acknowledgement, but the fox remained perfectly still, observing.
"We're Squad One," Fukuro continued. "Termination and Pursuit. We track and eliminate those who betray the village." His tone shifted slightly. "Including former ANBU."
The statement hung in the air between them, pointed and deliberate.
Mujina broke the silence. "You're earlier than expected. Our squad leader thought you'd join us after tomorrow's ceremony." The voice behind the badger mask was female, crisp and businesslike.
"Lieutenant Takara suggested I meet the team today," Sasuke replied.
Kitsune spoke for the first time, his tone casual but with an undercurrent of something harder. "Eager to see how the Uchiha fits in, I'm sure."
Sasuke felt the weight of evaluation in those words and simply removed his mask. "Well, I'll strive to live up to my name, Shinsato."
There was no actual need to use the man's name, but Sasuke was beginning to grow tired of the constant referral to his clan. Kitsune visibly bristled at being referred to by his last name, but there wasn't much he could say, especially since he was the first to do it.
With the masks back on, Sasuke couldn't help but ask, "Where are the other two members? Inaba and Sagi?"
"Inaba's on a mission with Byakko," Mujin replied. "Sagi… I don't know, to be honest. He's out for lunch, I think."
"We were about to run a simulation," Fukuro said, gesturing to the training ground. "Care to participate?"
Before Sasuke could respond, the door opened again. A fourth operative entered wearing a birdlike mask.
"Sagi," Mujina acknowledged. "Good timing. We were just talking about you. We're breaking in the new recruit."
The hawk-masked operative studied Hebi for a long moment. "I worked with your brother once."
"And?" Sasuke asked, voice level despite the jolt of adrenaline the comment had triggered.
"And nothing," Taka replied. "Just an observation."
Fukuro cleared his throat. "Battlefield scenario three—in your positions."
As the team moved to their positions, Fukuro passed by closely. "Word of advice," he murmured, just loud enough for him to hear. "Don't try to prove yourself too quickly. Some here are looking for reasons to dislike you. Don't give them ammunition. There'll be plenty of time for making a statement when you get your first mission"
Before Sasuke could respond, he moved away, taking up a position on the far side of the training ground. The owl mask revealed nothing of his intentions. Sasuke activated his Sharingan behind his mask. Since they were so obsessed over his clan, he'd show them exactly what an Uchiha could do—and why he belonged in the unit that would eventually hunt down his brother.
He just had to find his footing first.
.
— — —
.
Sasuke hadn't known there was a ceremonial hall inside the Hokage's tower. Banners hung from the vaulted ceiling—crimson and white, embroidered with the Leaf Village emblem and the Fire Country insignia. Tables laden with delicacies lined the walls, tended by servers in formal attire. Crystal glasses caught the light from ornate chandeliers that Sasuke had never seen before—perhaps they were installed specifically for tonight.
He adjusted the collar of his standard dark blue shinobi attire. He scanned the growing crowd. Clan heads in formal regalia. Jonin Commanders returned from outposts specifically for the occasion. Wealthy civilians were trying to look important among the shinobi elite. Even representatives from the noble houses of Fire Country in their silks and jewellery.
And positioned near the main entrance, receiving guests with practised poise, stood Danzo. The Fifth Hokage wore formal robes, the crisp white contrasting with his bandaged eye and arm. If one didn't know better, he might have seemed grandfatherly, smiling thinly at each arrival, nodding at the appropriate moments.
"Not exactly the quiet formality of standard promotions, is it?"
Sasuke turned to find Neji Hyuuga beside him, also dressed in a navy blue long-sleeve shirt and combat pants. His expression remained neutral, but Sasuke detected a hint of shared discomfort.
"It's excessive," Sasuke replied.
Neji's eyes moved systematically through the crowd. "This isn't wholly for us. We're just the excuse, it seems."
Sasuke nodded slightly. Even in the two days since receiving his ANBU assignment, and the invitation extended to him weeks ago, he'd learned enough about Danzo to understand that every action served multiple purposes. This was as much a promotion ceremony as it was a power demonstration, a networking opportunity, and a statement of the Leaf's continued strength after the Third's death.
From behind them came Rock Lee's unmistakable enthusiasm. "My youthful fellow promotees! Is this not the most splendid celebration? Gai-sensei says this is the grandest promotion ceremony in twenty years!"
The green-clad boy was vibrating with excitement, though even he had been coerced into slightly more formal attire. Sasuke couldn't help but feel slightly relieved that he hadn't worn his usual jumpsuit.
"Has anyone seen Naruto or Choji?" Lee asked, looking around.
"Akimichi's with his clan," Neji said, gesturing toward where the Akimichi, Yamanaka, and Nara heads stood together. "As for Uzumaki…" He trailed off as the main doors opened again.
A ripple of murmurs spread through the hall as the Daimyo of Fire Country entered, flanked by samurai guards and attendants. Behind the noble entourage, closer to the door, Sasuke caught sight of a distinctive head of spiky blond hair. The familiar sight of the Ichiraku Ramen owner and his daughter stood obviously uncomfortable beside him.
"Guess they're saving him for the main event," Sasuke muttered.
A gong sounded, signalling for guests to take their places. The five promotion candidates were directed to a raised dais at the front of the hall. Sasuke took his position, standing with perfect posture between Neji and Lee. Choji came next, shifting uncomfortably. The last to join them was Naruto, and Sasuke immediately noticed something different.
His usual calm was nowhere to be seen, and he seemed more tightly wound than Choji. Every so often, his gaze swept across the hall, as if reconfirming a head count.
Danzo took his position at the centre of the platform. Flanking him stood Jiraiya and Tsunade Senju, both in formal attire that did little to mute their distinctive appearances. Behind them stood a row of jonin—Kakashi, Gai, Asuma, a tired-looking Kurenai, and several others, Sasuke recognised as high-ranking shinobi.
"Honoured guests," Danzo began, his voice carrying easily through the hall without seeming to raise it. "Citizens of the Leaf, noble representatives of Fire Country, and most esteemed Daimyo—we gather in a time of transition and renewal. The loss of the Third Hokage was a grievous blow to our village. But as the Will of Fire teaches us, from the ashes of loss comes new growth."
Sasuke tuned out the political platitudes, instead watching the reactions of those in attendance. The wealthy-looking civilians nodded in unison at each pause. The clan heads maintained carefully neutral expressions. The Daimyo appeared mildly interested, occasionally whispering to an aide.
More telling were the reactions of those behind them on the platform, which he only noticed when he looked back. Jiraiya's face was fixed in a pleasant expression that didn't reach his eyes. Tsunade Senju's jaw was set just slightly too tight. And Kakashi... well, with most of his face covered, it was hard to tell, but his visible eye seemed focused on a point somewhere in the middle distance.
Danzo's speech pivoted to the candidates. "These five shinobi represent the future of the Leaf. Each exemplifies qualities we value—strength, intelligence, determination, loyalty, and potential."
One by one, Danzo called them forward. First Neji, commended for his tactical brilliance and "confirmation of the Hyuuga clan's continued excellence." Next came Rock Lee, praised for "proving that specialised skill can overcome natural limitation." Choji was recognised for his "representation of the Akimichi clan's stalwart reliability and power."
When Sasuke's name was called, he stepped forward and bowed precisely as protocol demanded.
"Sasuke Uchiha," Danzo said, "last loyal son of the Uchiha clan. Your performance in the exams demonstrated exceptional skill and the promise that the legendary Sharingan will continue to serve the Leaf faithfully."
There was something in Danzo's tone—a subtle emphasis on loyalty and faithfulness that made Sasuke's spine stiffen. He accepted the standard flak jacket with a formal bow, aware of the whispers that followed his name.
Finally, Danzo turned to Naruto. "Naruto Uzumaki. Your growth has been remarkable as you protected our village when many others could not, despite many here decrying you for your burden as a Jinchuriki."
The silence that followed was absolute.
Danzo reached not for a standard flak jacket, but for a distinctive package brought forward by an aide. He unfolded what at first appeared to be a standard chunin vest, but Sasuke immediately noted the difference—this one had sleeves, white with flame-red patterns at the hem.
A collective intake of breath swept through the room as Naruto donned the jacket. The similarity to the Fourth Hokage's signature cloak was unmistakable.
"It seems fitting," Danzo continued, "that as we honour our past, we also acknowledge our future. Many of you will recognise this design. It honours the Leaf's greatest heroes—the Fourth Hokage, Minato Namikaze and the White Fang, Sakumo Hatake, father of Kakashi Hatake, who was the student of my predecessor."
Another pause, perfectly calculated. Sasuke looked back at Kakashi, who was too busy staring at the back of Naruto's head to notice his gaze.
"And his son, Naruto Uzumaki."
Sasuke felt his eyes widen despite himself. He looked at Naruto, who stood rigidly in place. This wasn't news to him, Sasuke realised. But it was clearly news to most of the room.
The whispers exploded like wildfire through the crowd. Sasuke caught fragments: "The Fourth's son—" "—all this time—" "—the Jinchuriki—" "—does this mean—"
"Let there be no more whispers in shadows," Danzo's voice cut through the murmurs. "No more secrets that divide us. The Leaf rises strongest when we stand in truth."
Behind them, Sasuke could feel the tension radiating from the jonin. Danzo was claiming credit for transparency while simultaneously positioning himself as the benefactor who had recognised and legitimised Naruto's heritage.
The ceremony continued with the formal oath-taking, but the atmosphere had fundamentally changed. When they finally left the dais to mingle with the guests, Sasuke noticed how the crowd subtly rearranged itself. Where before they had been five equal candidates, now Naruto had become the centre of attention.
Dignitaries who had barely acknowledged the other promotees suddenly found reasons to speak with the Fourth's son. Civilian council members who had previously avoided Naruto now hovered nearby, waiting for introductions.
"Quite the spectacle," came a voice at Sasuke's elbow. He turned to find Kakashi, looking as casually disinterested as ever despite the formal setting.
"It wasn't about the promotion at all, was it?" Sasuke asked quietly.
Kakashi's visible eye curved in what might have been a smile or a grimace. "Chunin promotions rarely warrant an invitation to the Daimyo." He nodded toward where Naruto stood surrounded by admirers, with Tsunade and Jiraiya flanking him protectively. "He's being positioned. The question is, for what?"
Before Sasuke could respond, a face he recognised from ANBU headquarters approached. It was Takada, but it wasn't like he could greet her. "Uchiha, congratulations on your promotion. Lord Hokage requests a moment of your time once you're free."
Sasuke nodded, watching as the jonin melted back into the crowd. Kakashi had noticed the exchange.
"Busy schedule ahead?" the jonin asked, his tone deceptively casual.
"Apparently," Sasuke replied.
Kakashi seemed to weigh his next words carefully. "Just remember that there are many ways to serve the village. Choose the path, not the guide, and be critical of everything."
With that cryptic statement, his former sensei moved away, meandering toward Naruto's growing entourage.
Sasuke scanned the room once more. The ceremony had established new relationships, reinforced existing ones, and changed perceptions surrounding Naruto. For Naruto himself, it meant a dramatic shift in public standing.
His gaze shifted to where Danzo stood conversing with a group that included two clan heads and a representative from the Daimyo's court. The Hokage's exposed eye briefly met Sasuke's across the room.
It seemed this elaborate performance had another purpose, too. A message to everyone with the wit to see it: Danzo was not the Third. He would use everything and everyone at his disposal—bloodlines and political connections—to achieve his goals for the Leaf.
Sasuke adjusted his new flak jacket and thought of the ANBU mask hidden in his quarters. He had agreed to serve for his reasons—to gain the strength and position needed to finally confront Itachi. But standing here, watching Danzo orchestrate this grand political theatre, Sasuke wondered exactly what kind of world he had entered.
It seemed to be on a completely different level from his life as a genin and what was, in retrospect, a simple Jonin Test.
Sasuke approached the small antechamber where he'd been directed to meet Danzo. The celebration continued in the main hall, but here in this side room, the sounds of music and conversation were muted to a distant hum. The chamber was sparsely furnished—just a low table with a tea service and two cushions positioned across from each other.
Danzo was already seated, his back straight despite his apparent age. The bandages across his right eye and arm stood in stark contrast to the formal robes he wore. He didn't look up when Sasuke entered, instead continuing to pour tea into two small cups with his unbandaged hand.
"Sasuke," Danzo acknowledged, finally glancing up. "Congratulations on your promotion."
"Thank you, Lord Hokage," Sasuke replied, the formal title still feeling strange when applied to anyone other than the Third.
Danzo gestured to the cushion opposite him. Sasuke knelt formally, his back as rigid as Danzo's, who pushed one of the cups toward him.
"You're wondering why I've called you away from the celebration, I'm sure," Danzo said, his voice measured, almost pleasant. It was a tone Sasuke hadn't heard from him before—the public face of the Acting Hokage rather than the colder, more direct manner he'd displayed in their previous interactions.
"I assumed it was about my new assignment," Sasuke replied.
A thin smile crossed Danzo's face. "Direct. Good." He sipped his tea before continuing. "You are now a chunin of the Leaf. Your skills have been recognised, your potential acknowledged. The question becomes how best to utilise those skills."
The older man set down his cup with a soft click against the table.
"While your ANBU service will be your primary responsibility, we must establish a suitable cover for your activities. As a newly promoted chunin, you would normally be assigned to regular mission rotations with various teams. That would be impractical given your other duties."
Sasuke waited, watching Danzo carefully. The man was deliberate in everything he did, every word calculated.
"I'm creating a new departmental initiative within the village," Danzo continued. "A Joint Security Council operating out of the eastern restricted zone. On paper, it will be tasked with improving interdepartmental cooperation between our various security divisions—Military Police remnants, Intelligence, Border Patrol, and so forth."
Danzo's single exposed eye fixed on Sasuke. "Given the Uchiha clan's historical role in village security, your assignment there would seem both natural and fitting. It would explain your presence in restricted areas of the village at odd hours, account for any specialised training you might be observed receiving, and justify long absences when you're deployed on ANBU missions."
The implications were clear. A plausible cover identity, crafted to suit his circumstances specifically.
"And what would my actual duties in this department be?" Sasuke asked.
"Minimal," Danzo replied. "In reality, you won't be there at all. The office itself is legitimate, and its functions are as I described, but you will be using it as cover. The paperwork is impeccable. The budget allocation is transparent. The quarterly reports are filed promptly with the appropriate councils."
There was a hint of pride in Danzo's voice—the satisfaction of a man who appreciated thoroughness in deception.
"You've established covers like this before," Sasuke observed.
"The village has many layers, Sasuke. Public and private. That which is bathed in light, and everything cast in its shadow." Danzo refilled his teacup. "Your former sensei would have you believe these layers are in opposition. That one must choose between them."
So Danzo had overheard his conversation with Kakashi, or had someone reporting on it. Neither possibility was surprising, but it was certainly exhausting.
"And you disagree," Sasuke said, not quite a question.
"I understand that they are complementary, and as did Hiruzen," Danzo replied. "Light and shadow are two halves of the same whole. They oppose darkness, not each other. We might wish it otherwise, but the village cannot survive on noble ideals alone."
He reached into his robe and produced a small scroll, sealed with wax bearing the Hokage's official mark. "Your formal assignment papers, and if anyone in the next room asks what you plan on doing, you will know what to say."
Sasuke took the scroll, tucking it away inside his formal attire.
"One more thing." Danzo's tone shifted slightly. "While your talents are considerable, you would do well to remember that your true value to the village extends beyond your abilities. The Uchiha bloodline is now solely in your keeping. That represents both a responsibility and an opportunity."
Sasuke's eyes narrowed slightly. "I'm aware of my clan's legacy."
"Are you?" Danzo's question hung in the air between them. "Your brother's actions cast a long shadow. But before that night, the Uchiha were more than just a powerful clan. They were a cornerstone of this village's security and strength. In time, you will need to consider how that legacy continues beyond yourself."
The implication was clear enough. Danzo was thinking of the future Uchiha—of Sasuke's children and the bloodline they would inherit.
"My focus is on the present," Sasuke replied coolly. "And on becoming strong enough to deal with Itachi."
"Of course," Danzo said, leaning back. "And the path I've provided will help you achieve that strength. But a wise shinobi always considers the long game." He made a small gesture of dismissal. "That will be all. You should return to the celebration. I believe the Daimyo expressed interest in meeting each of our newly promoted chunin personally."
"Understood."
Sasuke rose smoothly, giving the formal bow that protocol demanded. As he turned to leave, Danzo spoke once more. "One last matter, Sasuke."
He paused, turning back. Danzo had risen from his seat, his bandaged face now partially unwrapped. A familiar red eye gleamed in the antechamber's dimness.
"What—" Sasuke began, his vision suddenly clouding.
"Even the strongest shinobi know when to rely on their village," Danzo said softly. "There is no shame in using every resource available to eliminate a threat like Itachi."
The room seemed to tilt. Sasuke's vision blurred, then sharpened with painful clarity. For an instant, he saw Itachi standing before him, impossibly distant despite being within arm's reach.
Then he was gone.
Sasuke blinked, finding Danzo seated again, sipping his tea.
"Remember that in the end, all paths, all choices—even revenge—must serve the village, though they need not be mutually exclusive."
Something shifted in Sasuke's perception, subtle yet profound. "Enjoy the rest of the occasion, Lord Hokage."
He stepped through the door, leaving Danzo alone with his tea and his schemes. In the corridor, Sasuke pressed his hand against the cool wall, steadying himself. The conversation had left him unsettled in ways he couldn't quite name.
In the time between entering and exiting the antechamber, Danzo and his words had dislodged something in his chest, leaving him feeling hollow. Memories of Itachi flickered unbidden—his brother deflecting shuriken without looking, mastering techniques in days that took others months, achieving ANBU captain while Sasuke was still learning basic jutsu.
The gap between them had always been vast. Years of dedicated training had narrowed it, perhaps, but eliminated it? The question arose unbidden and very much unwelcome. The distant sounds of celebration pulled at his awareness. Soon, he would need to return, to wear the appropriate expression, to play his role as the Leaf's last Uchiha.
Just as Naruto now performed as the Fourth's legacy.
Sasuke straightened, composing his features into their customary mask. Perhaps Danzo had a point. The village possessed resources, information networks, and elite shinobi. Tools that could be leveraged against Itachi when the time came. The ANBU would give him access to classified intelligence, to training methods and forbidden techniques, so long as he had the achievements to merit them.
Missions would inevitably place him in the company of shinobi who had faced S-rank threats and survived.
A new strategy began forming in the back of his mind. He could rise through the ranks, building influence, gathering allies—all while making the case that Itachi posed an ongoing threat to the Leaf that must be eliminated.
A rogue Uchiha might create a new clan beyond village control—not that he would let such a thing happen.
He would use Danzo just as Danzo was using him. He would gain the strength, the knowledge, and the position he needed. And when the time came to face Itachi, he would bring every advantage he could muster. He'd lost sight of it all in the minutiae, but the goal wasn't to defeat his brother in some honourable duel.
The goal was to see him dead, by whatever means necessary.