Hiruzen's words hung in the air like the last breath before a storm.
For the briefest of moments, the chamber was silent. Not the kind of silence born from peace, but the kind that comes before a battlefield erupts into chaos.
The Raikage's face darkened immediately, his already imposing frame seeming to grow even larger as his muscles tensed beneath his thick cloak. His sharp, piercing gaze locked onto Hiruzen, his jaw tightening, the veins in his temples subtly pulsing.
A man of raw power and unshakable will, he was not one to be so easily manoeuvred into a position of defence. Yet, here he was, thrust into the centre of attention, just as Hiruzen had intended.
Across the chamber, the Mizukage's lips twitched, amusement flickering in his cold, calculating eyes. The smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth was barely restrained, as if he were enjoying the sudden shift in the summit's direction.
Hiruzen had effectively put Kumo in the position of justifying its actions rather than acting as the righteous accuser. Hiroshi, ever the opportunist, recognized this instantly.
Satetsu, the Third Kazekage, furrowed his brows. He leaned slightly forward, fingers steepled in front of him as he observed the unfolding confrontation. His sharp, calculating mind processed the shift in dynamics, though he made no move to interrupt.
Onoki remained still. His expression was unreadable, his small, hovering frame motionless except for the occasional narrowing of his sharp eyes. Unlike the others, he was not one for unnecessary reactions—he was a man who played the long game. And right now, he was watching how things would unfold.
It was Tadashi who finally broke the silence.
"This is a grave claim, Hiruzen-dono," Tadashi said, his voice carefully even, his diplomatic tone betraying no emotion. "I have no prior knowledge of any ultimatums being exchanged between shinobi villages. If such an ultimatum truly exists, it should have been presented through the proper channels—namely, this very summit. That is the purpose of these gatherings, after all: to prevent unnecessary conflict by allowing for proper dispute resolution."
His words were reasonable, and neutral—exactly what one would expect from a man tasked with keeping the peace between warring nations. But beneath that carefully constructed facade, there was a clear attempt to defuse the tension before it reached a boiling point.
Hiruzen inclined his head ever so slightly, acknowledging Tadashi's words before shifting his focus back to the Raikage. His gaze did not waver, steady and unflinching, as if challenging the larger man to refute his claim.
"That is exactly what I was hoping we would do," Hiruzen said, his voice as calm as ever. Then, without hesitation, he pressed forward. "So, Raikage-dono, do you have any issues with Konoha?"
The directness of the question sent another ripple through the room. All eyes turned to the Raikage.
He could feel the weight of every gaze upon him, scrutinizing, waiting. He was no fool—Hiruzen was trying to corner him, forcing him into the defensive position that he had planned to have him before he could take the offensive.
The other Kage would see it as well. If he allowed himself to be baited, Kumo would lose the ability to dictate the narrative. That was something he could not afford.
Behind him, his son stood tall and silent, his dark eyes mirroring the very thoughts running through his father's mind.
'This was a trap.'
Hiruzen had forced them to respond first. If they were not careful, the other Kage might start seeing Kumo as the aggressor rather than the victim.
The Raikage inhaled sharply through his nose before exhaling, forcing his expression back into neutrality. When he finally spoke, his voice was deep, rumbling like distant thunder.
"Do you take me for a fool, Hiruzen?" he said, his words deliberate, weighted.
There was no immediate response from the Hokage, but that in itself was telling. The Raikage continued, his gaze unwavering.
"You speak as if Kumo is simply stirring trouble without reason. As if this summit was called over nothing. But let me ask you this—does Konoha truly expect to go unchallenged after what it has done?"
His words sent a subtle shift through the room.
Hiruzen remained impassive. "Perhaps you should clarify what exactly you are accusing Konoha of, Raikage-dono."
Tadashi, seeing where this was going, interjected once again. "Yes, Raikage-dono, if you are formally accusing another village, it must be done clearly and through the proper procedure. If there is a charge to be made against Konoha, then state it plainly."
For a brief second, Hiruzen almost allowed himself the smallest of smirks. The Raikage had taken the bait. By forcing him to declare his accusation first, Hiruzen had taken control of the situation.
He knew that Kumo had planned to bring up these claims eventually, but doing so in response to a direct question rather than as an opening move would make them look like they were just grasping for justification.
It was a small but crucial victory.
More importantly, if Konoha was labelled the aggressor in this summit, it could have dire consequences. The Fire Daimyō would be prevented from financing the war. That consequence could be devastating. But by manoeuvring the conversation in this direction, Hiruzen had ensured that Konoha would not be on the back foot from the start.
The Raikage took another breath, visibly restraining his frustration. When he spoke again, his words were more controlled but no less firm.
"Then let me be clear," he said, his voice carrying the weight of his anger. "I am formally accusing Konoha of targeting and killing one of our jinchūriki."
The weight of the accusation settled heavily over the room.
A slow, deliberate smirk returned to the Mizukage's face. "Ah," Hiroshi murmured, his voice barely above a whisper, but his amusement was evident.
"Now, this is interesting."
The Raikage shot him a warning glare but continued. "Jinchūrikis and Tailed Beasts are not just shinobi. They are assets—symbols of a village's power. They are as valuable as any hidden village itself. And Konoha has taken it upon itself to eliminate one of ours. This cannot stand."
He was building momentum, his fury coiling into each word. But before he could finish, the Mizukage let out a low chuckle.
"Yes, yes," Hiroshi drawled, waving a hand lazily. "We are all well aware of how valuable jinchūriki are. After all, we wouldn't even have them if it weren't for Hokage Hashirama so graciously distributing them like party favours all those years ago."
The reaction was instantaneous.
A muscle twitched in the Raikage's jaw, his dark skin taut with suppressed fury. His glare was sharp enough to cut through steel and locked onto Hiroshi with an intensity that could have reduced lesser men to cinders.
Satetsu exhaled sharply through his nose. The implication in Hiroshi's words was clear to all present—Hashirama Senju, the man who once stood at the peak of the shinobi world, had given away the tailed beasts as if they were mere bargaining chips.
The First Hokage's generosity was a well-known fact, but for Kiri's Mizukage to mention it at such a charged moment, was nothing short of provocation.
Onoki, let out a low grunt of amusement, his small form barely shifting, but his sharp eyes gleamed with something unreadable.
The air crackled with tension.
The Raikage's grip on the table tightened, his fingers digging into the wood. "Tch… Are you implying that Kumo's strength comes only from the charity of Konoha?" His voice was deep, gravelly, and slow, a barely controlled growl that rumbled like thunder before a storm.
Hiroshi's smirk widened slightly, the amusement in his eyes dancing like a flickering flame. "Oh? Did I say that?" he mused, tilting his head ever so slightly, his white-blue hair falling over his shoulder. "I merely meant to remind everyone here of the… history of these matters. After all, the past has a habit of shaping the present, wouldn't you agree, Raikage-done?"
A soft crack echoed through the chamber as the Raikage's chair groaned beneath the pressure of his sheer presence. His son, standing just behind him, tensed, his arms crossed as he subtly shifted his stance.
Onoki let out a chuckle, his grizzled face betraying the faintest hint of amusement.
"Hmph. History, is it?" he muttered. "Then perhaps we should remind ourselves that Kiri's 'history' includes betraying its own kin in blood-soaked purges. If I recall correctly, your own Mizukage was nearly cut down by his own shinobi not too long ago. Maybe you should concern yourself with your own house before you start stirring trouble in others."
Hiroshi's eyes darkened, though his smirk remained intact. "Ah, but Onoki-dono," he said smoothly, "isn't it precisely because of history that I am here today? Kiri is stronger than ever. We've weeded out the weak links." His voice dropped slightly, his words laced with an unmistakable warning. "And we do not forget our enemies."
The room grew colder, the faintest sensation of killing intent seeping into the air, subtle yet suffocating.
Tadashi cleared his throat pointedly, sensing the rapid escalation. "We are not here to discuss past grievances," he interjected. "Mizukage-dono, Raikage-dono, please stay on topic. The accusation against Konoha—"
The Raikage exhaled sharply, shifting his focus back to Hiruzen, his expression darkening further. The Mizukage's attempts to provoke him were irritating but ultimately irrelevant. He could deal with that shark-eyed bastard later.
For now, there was a far more pressing matter.
His gaze bore into Hiruzen, cold and unrelenting. "And to make matters worse," he continued, his voice growing sharper, "the very person responsible for the death of our jinchūriki is the one you chose to bring here as an escort to this summit."
The weight of his accusation settled over the room like a lead blanket.
Silence.
The words echoed in the minds of every person present, the implications clear.
Hiruzen, unmoved, simply exhaled through his nose, his expression as steady as ever. His hands rested lightly on the table before him, fingers interlocked in quiet patience.
Behind him, one of his shinobi—the very one being accused—stood impassive, their face unreadable. But those who knew better, who truly understood the undercurrents of power in the room, could feel the tension humming just beneath the surface.
Satetsu folded his arms across his chest, his gaze flickering between Hiruzen and the Raikage. "This is a strong accusation," he murmured.
Onoki, for once, did not immediately interject. He simply studied Hiruzen with narrowed eyes, waiting.
Tadashi, ever the mediator, turned to Hiruzen. "Hiruzen-dono," he said carefully, measuring each word, "Kumogakure has now formally accused Konoha of this crime. What is Konoha's position in this matter?"
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