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The sun was dipping below the horizon, casting long shadows across the Hokage's office as Hiruzen Sarutobi leaned heavily on his desk. The report of Danzo's death lay before him, its edges curling slightly from the trembling hands that had delivered it. The old Hokage's expression was one of carefully crafted sorrow, but beneath the surface, his mind churned with anxiety and suspicion.
Danzo's death wasn't just an attack on an old friend—it was a message. And Hiruzen was astute enough to decipher it. Someone was dismantling his inner circle, the architects of the power he had built and maintained since the fall of the Senju Clan.
The door creaked open again, and this time it was Koharu and Homura's former assistant, an aging kunoichi named Ayame. She carried a second report, her face ashen.
"Lord Third," She began cautiously, setting the scroll on his desk. "The ANBU have uncovered... additional details."
Hiruzen took the scroll with deliberate slowness, his hands steady despite the storm raging within. He unfurled it and scanned the contents. The detailed examination of the scene painted a grim picture. The tendrils of Wood Style chakra laced throughout the destruction were unmistakable—an echo of Hashirama Senju's legendary power. There were no surviving witnesses, no signs of mercy.
Whoever had orchestrated the attack had done so with surgical precision.
"Wood Style," Hiruzen murmured, his tone thoughtful. "A technique thought to be lost. But we both know Danzo had... dabbled in its recreation."
His eyes flicked up to Ayame, whose gaze remained respectfully averted. "This was no random act of violence."
Ayame hesitated before speaking. "Lord Hokage... there's more. Among the recovered items from the ruins was... this."
She reached into her pouch and pulled out a fragment of fabric, the faint symbol of a hawk embroidered on it. "It's believed to belong to one of Danzo's former operatives—a defector from Root who disappeared years ago."
Hiruzen's face darkened. "A hawk, is it? How poetic. Root's remnants may be stirring, or perhaps this is someone else entirely."
Ayame bowed slightly and left the room, leaving Hiruzen alone once more. He stared at the fabric in his hand, his mind racing with possibilities. Danzo had made countless enemies over the years, and his death could have been the work of any number of factions. But this wasn't just about Danzo. Koharu, Homura, and now Danzo—all key figures in maintaining the Sarutobi Clan's hold on Konoha's power structure—were gone.
His eyes drifted to the portrait of the First Hokage hanging on the far wall. The Senju Clan, once the heart of the village, had been reduced to ashes under his watch. He remembered the years of careful maneuvering, the alliances forged in secret with Danzo, Koharu, and Homura, and the silent eradication of threats to his position.
The Sarutobi Clan had risen from mere stewards to the undisputed royal family of Konoha. It had been his ambition, his vision.
And now it was all unraveling.
He leaned back in his chair, the shadows playing across his face. The façade of the benevolent "Professor" Hokage was cracking, and beneath it lay a man who had clawed his way to the top and held onto power with an iron grip.
A sharp knock at the door broke through his reverie like a blade slicing the still air of the Hokage's office.
"Enter," Hiruzen commanded, his voice calm but heavy with authority. Yet, beneath the veneer of control, a knot of unease coiled tighter in his chest. The recent events—the calculated, precise eliminations of his most trusted advisors—were no coincidence. He was certain of that much.
The door creaked open, and Shikaku Nara stepped inside, his sharp, calculating eyes sweeping the room with the precision of a predator surveying the battlefield. Hiruzen noted the way the strategist moved: purposeful, unhurried, and confident.
The Nara clan head was not one to waste time with pleasantries, and today was no exception.
"Lord Third," Shikaku began, sinking into the chair opposite the Hokage without waiting for an invitation. His tone was clipped, devoid of his usual dry humor. "The situation is growing more complex by the hour. Our investigations have identified at least three—possibly four—factions that could be behind this."
Hiruzen's gaze sharpened, his grip tightening on the ceremonial pipe he held. "Speak."
Shikaku leaned forward, his fingers steepled in thought. "The first and most obvious possibility is the remnants of Root itself. Danzo Shimura was a man of ambition, but his leadership was far from universally admired within his own organization. There were whispers—rumors of dissent among his operatives even before his death. It's plausible that one of his own turned against him, using this as an opportunity to strike."
Hiruzen's jaw tightened at the mention of his old rival and sometime-ally. Danzo had been many things—brilliant, ruthless, cunning—but his death had left behind a fractured legacy and a festering wound within the hidden underbelly of Konoha's political structure.
"And the second?" The Hokage prompted, his voice steady.
Shikaku's eyes darkened, and he spoke with the bluntness for which the Nara clan was known. "The Uchiha."
Hiruzen's gaze narrowed, but he said nothing, waiting for Shikaku to continue.
"It's no secret that the Uchiha Clan still harbors resentment. The coup attempt, the death of Shisui Uchiha, and the subsequent fallout left scars that haven't healed. The use of Wood Style in these attacks could be a calculated diversion—a way to throw us off their trail while they move to assert dominance in the shadows."
The Hokage leaned back in his chair, his face an unreadable mask, but his thoughts churned.
The Uchiha. Always the Uchiha.
He had tried to balance their pride and the village's stability, but it seemed the ghost of past grievances refused to rest.
"And the third possibility?" Hiruzen asked though he felt a creeping certainty about what was coming next.
Shikaku hesitated, his keen mind weighing the weight of his words before he spoke. "Lord Orochimaru."
A chill settled in the room. For a moment, neither man spoke, the name hanging between them like a specter.
Hiruzen's heart clenched. Orochimaru—his prodigy, his failure. The rogue sannin's departure from Konoha had been a scar that never truly healed. He had always known that Orochimaru's ambition was boundless, his intellect dangerous.
Could this be his return?
A calculated strike to unsettle the foundations of the village that had once shunned him?
But if Orochimaru was behind this…
Shikaku's voice broke through the Hokage's spiraling thoughts. "There's a fourth possibility, though I hesitate to bring it up."
Hiruzen's gaze snapped to him, his tone edged with irritation. "Speak freely, Shikaku."
The strategist took a measured breath, his sharp mind calculating the risks of his next words. "There are those who believe… you, Lord Hokage, maybe the true target."
Silence descended upon the room, heavy and oppressive.
"Homura, Koharu, Danzo," Shikaku continued cautiously, his eyes never leaving Hiruzen's. "They were your closest allies, yes, but also your enforcers. Their deaths weaken your position—politically and strategically. Whoever is behind this might be dismantling the old guard, piece by piece, to leave you vulnerable."
The accusation, unspoken but clear, struck like a physical blow. Hiruzen's lips thinned, and his knuckles whitened around his pipe.
"Enough," he said coldly, his voice carrying the weight of finality. "Focus on finding the culprit, not speculating on motives."
Shikaku nodded, bowing slightly. "Of course, Lord Hokage."
The Nara clan head rose and left the room, the soft click of the door closing behind him reverberating in the silence that followed.
Alone once more, Hiruzen turned his gaze to the window, staring out at the village he had sworn to protect. The sun dipped below the horizon, casting long shadows over the rooftops of Konoha.
For decades, he had been the unshakable pillar of Konoha, the God of Shinobi, the man who had weathered wars, betrayals, and the ambitions of lesser men. But now, for the first time in years, he felt the icy tendrils of doubt creeping into his heart.
Someone was moving against him. Someone with a plan. The calculated precision of the attacks, the careful elimination of his inner circle—it was the work of a mind as sharp as any blade, a shadowy figure who understood the rules of the deadly game they played.
--- ✦ ✦ ✦ ---
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