(Danzo and 3rd POV combined )
The reason Danzo ordered Kaori's death was exactly what Hiruzen had guessed, to fracture the boy, to break him down and, from the wreckage, build a tool. A blunt instrument shaped by grief, that was Danzo's craft—refining tragedy into utility.
But what Hiruzen failed to realize was that Danzo had orchestrated everything from the very beginning. He wasn't just responding to a situation like, as if Kaori had found some incriminating documents and Danzo had acted on that. No—he created the whole situation.
Kaori had believed she was uncovering Root's secrets on her own— names of children, trails of corruption, when in truth every file she received, had been planted. Danzo had watched her closely and calculated every move.
The moment he suspected Hiruzen's interest in Kazeo, his plan took shape. The boy had few connections, and of them Kaori was the only one that mattered. The only piece he could sacrifice.
----
But today… things had shifted.
A quiet, dangerous duel unfolded between Konoha's two elders. A subtle battle played out between the two of them, both wielding manipulation like a blade.
Hiruzen never raised his voice too much, he didn't need to. The deliberate way he uttered Danzo's full name carried more threat than any shouted command. It wasn't the anger of a Hokage grieving a civilian—it was a calculated move. Danzo saw it for what it was: a performance. The death of Kaori was never the issue—it was an excuse. A reason for Hiruzen to draw the boy deeper into his influence.
It meant, Hiruzen hadn't cared before, but now? Now, Hiruzen was watching and that infuriated Danzo more than he cared to admit.
Kazeo was no legend in the making. He lacked Minato's brilliance, Itachi's grace, Kakashi's edge. He had potential, yes—but he was not extraordinary. Not yet atleast.
So why was Danzo so determined to claim him?
It was simple because he believed, Hiruzen wanted the boy. That was the truth, stripped bare of all pretense. It was petty and childish.
A bitter game of tug-of-war between two old men who had spent too long playing god with the next generation. For years, Hiruzen had snatched every promising mind away from him— Kakashi, Itachi, Shisui and many more, always with that same noble expression, always pretending it was for the good of the village. But Danzo knew better. This time, he acted first, took the initiative and chose Kazeo, not for his worth, but for what he symbolized.
Yet now, he wasn't even sure, if the boy truly mattered. The realization that Hiruzen only became interested after his meddling left a bitter taste.
Still, there was more to unravel.
Danzo brought up Yamato—intentionally. A move meant to probe. He wanted to see if Hiruzen's anger was genuine, or if it was just another layer in their game. The moment the Hokage flinched at the name, Danzo had his answer.
The wound was still there.
Hiruzen hadn't forgiven him for hiding the Wood Release child. That grudge would resurface especially when the Uchiha matter would move forward but by introducing Yamato now, in a context where it didn't belong, Danzo had defused the grudge and shifted the tension. He let Hiruzen believe that old scars were being acknowledged, maybe even healed. It was a subtle maneuver. Though not a victory, it wasn't a loss either.
And yet, a flicker of something foreign stirred in his mind: a doubt 'Am I losing my edge?'
The thought passed quickly, it was too dangerous to linger on. He buried it beneath layers of steel resolve.
Because there was still work to be done.
The true culprit behind the yesterday's incident had yet to be identified and Danzo intended to unearth them, no matter how deep they hid.
----------
Two hours after Hiruzen and Danzo's conversation—
Inside the orphanage, Kazeo lay sleeping when he faintly heard voices calling his name.
"O... eo... zeo... azeo... Kazeo… Kazeo!"
His eyelids fluttered open. Blurred faces slowly came into focus—caretakers and children standing around his bed, their expressions painted with worry. His body felt drenched, his clothes stuck to his skin with cold sweat.
Sitting up, he blinked slowly, his brain was still clouded by sleep. "Why are you all here?" he asked, confused.
One of the older caretakers, Takuma, a man in his fifties with short black hair and a thin moustache— exchanged glances with the others before stepping forward. He wasn't just a caretaker— he had worked with Kaori in orphanage for years. The kind who quietly fixed broken toys, who stayed up with kids through fevers, who made sure no birthday ever went forgotten. To the children, he was a steady presence. To Kaori, he was family.
Takuma knelt beside the bed. "You were having a nightmare," he said softly. "You were thrashing around in your sleep, mumbling something, scared. We know you sleep longer than others—especially on holidays, so we didn't disturb you. But an hour ago, you started mumbling and sweating, so we got worried."
Kazeo's heart skipped a beat. He remembered last night. The blood. The body and the truth.
'Maybe it was just a dream…' he hoped. But a heavy silence had settled over the room, one that didn't sit right with him.
He glanced around once more, frowning.
"…Where's Grandma?"
Takuma hesitated. His jaw clenched and for a moment, he didn't speak. Then he gently placed a hand on Kazeo's shoulder.
"Come with me, Kazeo." he said quietly. "Let's talk outside."
The kids around them looked confused, but Takuma motioned for the others to give them space. They backed away slowly, some reluctantly, sensing something was wrong but too young to understand.
Takuma led Kazeo to a quieter hallway. The morning sun filtered dimly through the dusty windows, casting pale shadows on the wooden floor.
He stopped, turned, and looked into the boy's eyes with a pained expression.
"Kazeo… Grandma Kaori passed away last night."
Kazeo's breath caught in his throat.
"She was attacked," Takuma continued, voice thick with grief. "The village said… there were enemy spies. They infiltrated the village. She was caught in a fight. They couldn't save her."
'It wasn't a dream ?' Everything around him blurred for a moment. He didn't cry or screamed, just stared at Takuma.
But inside of him was chaos.
'Liars. All of them are liars.'
He had seen who did it, that wasn't some spy. That was Mantis and his team. One of Danzo's shadows.
'ROOT… killed her,' he whispered in his mind, fists trembling at his sides. 'And they're blaming outsiders. How typical.'
Outwardly, he let his voice shake. "S-spies? But why would they… why her?"
"She was kind," Takuma said, trying to smile gently through his own pain. "Too kind. Maybe that's why. Or maybe she was in wrong place at wrong time."
"Yeah… Wrong place…"
His hand curled into a fist beneath his long sleeve.
'I killed someone for the first time… and no one will ever know why. No one will know Konoha's own darkness took her away.'
"I don't feel well," Kazeo whispered. "Can I… have some time to myself?"
Takuma nodded slowly. "Of course. Take all the time you need. You're not alone in this, Kazeo. We're hurting too."
As Takuma walked away, Kazeo returned to his small room. Closed the door. The room was quiet—too quiet.
He lay down, staring at the ceiling, and for the first time since he arrived in this world… he let the tears fall.
'What's the point of all this training… if I couldn't even save the one person who made this place feel like home?'
----------
A week later—
The room was silent and not the kind of silence that brought peace—this silence felt heavy. It was as if the grief Kazeo felt was a weight, pressing down on his small chest, squeezing the air from his lungs. The hardwood beneath him was cold. His hands... filthy, nails caked with dried blood—his or someone else's, he no longer knew.
He sat with his knees drawn to his chest, forehead buried in his arms, feeling as if the walls of the small apartment were closing in on him.
The stench of old food and unwashed clothes filled the air, though Kazeo hadn't noticed. He hadn't noticed anything in days.
Kaori was gone, and he couldn't help but feel that it was his fault. He had also killed someone for her, tainting his hands with blood, but it didn't change the fact that the only person who had made this new world feel like home... was now dead.
He wasn't crying anymore. Not because he didn't want to, his soul screamed with grief—but after seven days, his tears had run dry. He had no energy left.
That's when he heard that damnable voice again. It wasn't spoken aloud, instead echoing inside his mind as if someone were whispering within his own skull.
He jolted upright, eyes scanning the room. Empty... and yet—
"You're not just a child, Kazeo. You've lived once already. You know how this world works, and you know that this pain doesn't go away on its own."
"Shut up…" Kazeo whispered, tightening his fist. He had been hearing the voice for the last five days. It was relentless as it kept urging him to take revenge, to kill everyone. But what was the point? What good would killing do now, after he had already lost what mattered? He had trained. He had planned. But now... what was the point of getting stronger?
Even if he became the strongest—stronger than anyone else, what would that change?
Someone stronger could still take it all away.
Wasn't that how this world worked? That bitter truth had rooted itself deep in his soul. He had believed in strength once. Believed, it could protect what mattered.
But it wasn't enough to save Kaori.
"You're hiding again, just like you did when your grades fell or when your roommate died— hanging himself because he couldn't handle the pressure of competitive exams. But this time, hiding will only get more people killed."
"I'm eight. I'm a damn kid! What can I even do?!" Kazeo shouted, his voice cracking with the weight of his grief.
But the mysterious voice rose with emotion, cutting through the silence. "You're more than twenty. Don't lie to yourself now."
"You should've killed them," the voice hissed. "The moment you saw what they did. But no… you hesitated. You let her die!"
His hands dug into his scalp as he gripped his head, trembling under the weight of the accusation.. "Stop it…"
"No. I won't," the voice replied, colder than before.
Its tone sharpened like frost forming on a blade as it kept speaking.
"This world doesn't care about kindness, it rewards strength. You have already seen it in the anime. Madara learned that. Sasuke learned that. Even Itachi. So when will you learn, Kazeo?"
A spark of chakra surged in his body— bitter and venomous. It slithered through his chest like a serpent feeding on pain.
"You loved her, didn't you?"
Kazeo's jaw tightened.
"Then honor her," the voice whispered, now low and dangerous, "by making them bleed."
He sprang to his feet, breath ragged, heart pounding like a drum. "What the hell do you want from me?!"
"I want what you want," it said. "Power. Justice. Revenge."
Silence followed, but it wasn't peace. It was pressure building behind his eyes, a storm in his chest. His soul felt like it was splitting in two, like something foreign clawing its way in.
"You're wasting your potential, Kazeo." the voice murmured, quieter now, almost gentle. "You could destroy the ones who did this. Burn them from the roots. You can make sure no one ever hurts you again."
A cold shiver crawled up his spine. It wasn't just a voice anymore. It was something more like a seed—planted deep inside him and growing wild. Feeding on his rage, guilt and grief. And he didn't even know if it was his anymore.
"You were never meant to be just a child," it whispered. "You were born to become more."
Kazeo curled into himself, arms wrapped tightly around his knees. "I just… want peace," he whispered, like a prayer uttered already too late.
"Peace is an illusion." the voice replied, slow and deliberate. "Power is real. Power will protect the next Kaori. Tell me—do you want your parents to suffer the same way when you meet them again? Will you watch more of your loved ones die just because you were afraid to act?"
That was when something inside him cracked. He collapsed onto the floor, body wracked with tremors, breaths coming in short, sharp gasps. Hyperventilating.
It was a classic case of trauma-induced dissociation. When the human mind is pushed past its breaking point, it does whatever it can to survive and Kazeo's mind had reached that edge. In the world he came from, psychologists called it Adaptive Dissociation. It wasn't madness or insanity, it was just survival.
When the pain becomes too much, the mind fragments. It creates voices—alternate versions of the self, to carry the weight and process what the core personality cannot. For Kazeo, the voice in his head wasn't a hallucination. It was his mind's way of protecting itself from everything he had endured. It was a shield, not a flaw. A sign that he had been through too much… and was still trying to hold on.
But this wasn't just his mind creating voices anymore. Not here. In the shinobi world, emotions weren't just feelings—they carried chakra. Dark emotions, especially, had weight. Sometimes… they even had a voice. In this world, that voice was Yin—chakra shaped by thought and poisoned by pain.
In the shadows of his mind, the voice smiled—quiet and triumphant.
"Come on, Kazeo. Let me show you how to never feel weak again."
And for just a moment… he almost gave in.
But then, everything went black. His mind shut down, preventing his soul from responding.
-------
The next day didn't come with a dreamless rest. It came with light. Not a sunrise, just… light. Soft and pale, filtering through the thin curtains. A faint warmth brushed against his eyelid, just enough to say morning had arrived.
Kazeo blinked slowly. The crust of dried tears and sleep stung the corner of his eyes. His body felt as if it had aged decades. His limbs were heavy, his stomach hollow, and his breath shallow.
But he was awake. The room hadn't changed, it looked the same, the same dull walls.. The empty cup on the floor, the blanket lying untouched—but beneath it all, barely perceptible, something new stirred.
It wasn't peace or hope but silence. Today the voice wasn't there.
For the first time in six days, it didn't greet him the moment his eyes opened. Maybe it had finally grown tired. Or maybe… it had seen what happened yesterday and decided to back off. Maybe it realized that pushing any harder would shatter him completely.
The quiet wasn't comforting but it wasn't crushing either. It just… existed. His fingers twitched. He didn't feel like moving but he also didn't feel like not moving. So, he sat up and that was enough.
The sink water ran cold. He splashed it on his face, wincing at the sting, dirt swirled down the drain—his hands were darker than he remembered. He hadn't looked in the mirror since that night.
Now he did.
A small boy stared back. Wild, uncombed hair, sunken cheeks. Eyes that didn't shine anymore. A total stranger.
Kazeo held the gaze for a long time before reaching for the towel.
-----
That night, Kazeo sat on the roof of his house.
The tiles were cool under him, the sky above scattered with stars. He hugged his knees to his chest, just like before but this time… he wasn't hiding.
He was remembering.
Kaori's voice echoed faintly in his head—off-key lullabies she sang while washing dishes. That ridiculous hum she'd mess up on purpose, just to make him and others laugh. The way her eyes always softened when he failed but tried anyway.
A mosquito buzzed past his ear. He swatted at it. Missed.
"Tch."
Kaori once joked that mosquitoes were like tiny shinobi—annoying, fast, and always targeting the softest spots.
His lips twitched, but he didn't smile, he just remembered. He sat there for hours. The wind was cold, his legs numb, stomach empty. But still, he stayed. Going inside meant maybe facing the voice again or facing the silence.
He pulled his knees closer and whispered. "I was supposed to protect this… this peace."
The words barely made it past his lips.
"I swore this life would be different than the last. No more helplessness. No more regrets."
But it wasn't different.
He had knowledge of this world, Intelligence—twenty year's worth. Experience. All of it, and Kaori still died. He still couldn't stop it.
So what was the point of getting stronger?
The voice inside him, the one that always had something to say—was silent now.
Then, like a breath carried by the wind, something shifted. From the shadows, soft and glowing under the moonlight, she appeared.
Kaori.
She looked exactly the same, but her presence was lighter—more memory than body.
Unbeknownst to Kazeo, this was a chakra mirage—an illusion shaped not by any jutsu, but by raw emotion. In the shinobi world, intense feelings could either leave behind echoes… or create them.
She didn't speak. Just walked toward him, knelt beside him, and ran her fingers through his messy hair like she always used to.
Kazeo's breath hitched, he blinked, his voice shaking. "G-Grandma…?"
He collapsed into her, even if knowing there was no real body to catch him. His arms wrapped around her illusion as if he could will it to stay.
"I'm sorry" he choked out. "I'm sorry I left you that night. I should've come sooner…"
Kaori said nothing at first, she just let him cry. Time lost all meaning whether it was minutes or hours, Kazeo didn't know.
"I'm not strong." he said eventually, his voice raw. "I let you die. I froze at that moment. I did nothing…"
Kaori finally spoke, her voice warm but not soft. It held something sharper.
"Then learn, my little storm." she whispered. "Let the pain teach you… not break you."
Kazeo looked at her, startled. But there was no anger in her eyes—only love and a quiet strength.
"I've seen young boys cry over scraped knees and still rise, brave and trembling."
She leaned in closer, her gaze steady but kind.
"You don't have to be unbreakable, Kazeo. Just… choose: Will you spend this second life hiding from pain or will you build something that lasts, even if it hurts sometimes?"
He swallowed hard, chest heavy. "I… I don't know how."
Kaori pressed a soft kiss to his forehead.
"Then start with one breath. And tomorrow—one step."
He clenched his fists. "But it won't matter. Even if I train, someone stronger will always come…"
Kaori smiled, her voice quiet.
"Then let them come, and let them find a boy who stands back up no matter how many times they knock him down."
She touched his cheek gently.
"You think I raised you or anyone—to be a soldier?" Her voice was softer now, full of fierce love. "No, Kazeo. I raised my children's to survive."
His throat tightened. "Survive for what?" he whispered. "Everyone leaves. Everyone dies."
Kaori's voice was gentle, like the hush of leaves in the wind. "Not everyone. Not if you become someone who changes what death means."
Kazeo stared at her, his breath shallow.
"Be the one who remembers them." she continued softly. "The one who carries us forward."
She hugged him closer, her presence dimming, but her words growing stronger. "And one day, when another broken kid finds you… you'll know what to say."
Tears welled in his eyes again, but this time… they didn't fall. They simply shimmered there, clinging to the edge.
He looked up at her, his voice barely audible. "Will it ever stop hurting?"
Kaori's form was beginning to dissolve now—fading around the edges.
"No," she said. "But one day… it'll hurt less."
She wiped his tears one last time, her touch a ghost of warmth. "And you'll know that means you're healing."
As she vanished into the night air, her final words floated to him like a blessing carried by the wind:
"Don't mourn me by dying inside, Kazeo. Keep my memory alive by living. Don't cry forever. Cry for tonight… and when morning comes, become someone this world remembers."
[ A/N : Hello readers!
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