The underground facility was a study in controlled silence; dim torchlight cast flickering shadows across reinforced corridors, their surfaces marked with sealing arrays that pulsed with faint energy. Masked operatives moved through the passages with the particular stillness of those trained to be invisible; their footsteps were silent, their breathing controlled, their presence barely registering against the cold stone walls. Absolute discipline governed every movement; no one spoke unless necessary, no one lingered, no one questioned the orders that flowed through the Root network like blood through veins.
Danzo Shimura sat in a private chamber at the heart of the facility; the room was sparse, functional, and utterly devoid of decoration. A single table held a collection of scrolls and reports; a single lantern cast its light across the surface. His bandaged arm rested on the armrest of his chair; his cane leaned against the table. His visible eye scanned the documents before him with the particular intensity of someone who had spent decades navigating the treacherous currents of political warfare. The silence was absolute, broken only by the soft rustle of paper and the distant drip of water from somewhere in the depths of the underground complex.
A Root operative entered, kneeling before him with the precision of someone who had performed the gesture countless times. He presented a sealed intelligence scroll, its surface marked with the insignia of the Root network. The wax seal was intact, the binding threads undisturbed; the scroll had not been tampered with.
"Latest information from Konoha," the operative announced, his voice carrying the particular flatness of someone who had been trained to suppress all emotion. "Direct from our agents within the administrative offices. Priority one classification."
Danzo dismissed everyone except one trusted Root shinobi before opening the scroll. His fingers moved with deliberate precision, breaking the seal and unrolling the document. His eye began to scan the contents, his expression remaining impassive as he absorbed the information.
The first report stated that the Fourth Hokage had temporarily departed Konoha. Danzo paused, his eye narrowing with genuine surprise. The Hokage almost never left the village, especially during peacetime. The Hokage's foremost responsibility was protecting the village, and a departure was normally approved by the village elders, the Daimyo if necessary, and proper administrative channels. The report indicated that Minato had left without prior notification to the council, without the usual protocols being followed.
Hashirama, he thought, his internal voice analytical, Tobirama, Hiruzen; they rarely travelled unless absolutely necessary. A Hokage is worth more inside the village than anywhere else. The village is the Hokage's primary responsibility; leaving it unguarded is a risk that few leaders would take.
He remembered the historical precedents; the First Hokage had rarely left the village's immediate vicinity, preferring to remain within the walls he had helped build. The Second Hokage had travelled only for critical diplomatic missions, and even then, he had always left trusted advisors in charge. The Third Hokage had spent most of his tenure within Konoha's walls, his presence a constant reassurance to the civilian population. The Hokage was the village's greatest military deterrent; if an enemy attacked while the Hokage was absent, response time mattered. Foreign villages monitored these things carefully, and every departure was a calculated risk that could be exploited.
Then he remembered who the current Hokage was. His internal thoughts shifted; Minato was different. The Flying Raijin changed everything. Because Minato could teleport, distance lost meaning; he could instantly return, one second hundreds of kilometres away, the next standing inside the Hokage Office. Danzo reluctantly admitted that Minato was probably the only Hokage in history who could leave without truly leaving. The Flying Raijin made him omnipresent, a constant threat even when physically absent.
The second report was more alarming. The text stated that an enormous emerald chakra construct had been observed near the Valley of the End. Danzo stopped reading, his eye widening with confusion. He reread the sentence, his mind struggling to process the information. The report described a giant figure of chakra, towering over the landscape, its presence visible for miles. It had appeared, remained for several minutes, then vanished, only to reappear later.
"What does that even mean?" he muttered, his voice carrying the weight of genuine bewilderment. "An emerald construct? Who in Konoha possesses that kind of power?"
Then memory began surfacing. Years ago, when he had been a young shinobi serving under the Second Hokage, Tobirama had explained the nature of the Mangekyō Sharingan and its ultimate expression: the Susanoo. He remembered the conversation vividly; Tobirama's voice had been calm, clinical, carrying the particular authority of someone who had witnessed the technique firsthand.
"The Mangekyō Sharingan," Tobirama had explained, his voice carrying the weight of hard-won knowledge, "manifests chakra as an avatar. The Susanoo is its final form; a giant warrior of chakra armour that is nearly indestructible. Madara Uchiha was the only one who had fully mastered it in recent history."
He had described the technique's mechanics; the manifestation of chakra, the armour, the impossible durability, the way only Madara had fully mastered it. He had explained why fighting the Susanoo was so difficult; the construct was not just a shield, but a weapon, capable of devastating attacks while protecting its user from harm. The Susanoo was the ultimate expression of Uchiha power, a technique that had shaped the course of shinobi history.
Danzo's eye slowly widened as the memory crystallised. The emerald chakra construct, the giant warrior of chakra armour—it could only be one thing.
"…Susanoo."
He kept reading, his mind already analysing the implications. The report continued with a timeline; the Susanoo had appeared, then disappeared, then appeared again, then disappeared. The pattern was clear; this was not combat. Nobody repeatedly summoned Susanoo like this in battle. This was testing, experimentation, training. Someone was learning the ability, pushing its limits, understanding its capabilities.
Fugaku, he thought first, then immediately rejected the possibility. There were rumours about the clan head's Mangekyō, but nothing confirmed. Fugaku was cautious, traditional, unlikely to reveal such power in the open. He would never risk exposing the clan's greatest secret.
Then he considered the only confirmed Mangekyō user who remained. The name surfaced in his mind like a blade emerging from shadow.
Renjiro.
Danzo's expression darkened. His bitterness returned, the memories of humiliation, political defeats, and being forced into unfavourable positions flooding back. He clenched his cane, his knuckles whitening with the force of his grip. The boy had embarrassed him, undermined his authority, and positioned himself as a rival in the political arena.
That boy… he thought, his internal voice cold with barely contained fury. He continues to grow beyond what I anticipated. First the Mangekyō, now this. What else is he hiding?
Then another thought appeared. Wait, Renjiro already had a Mangekyō. Why would he suddenly test Susanoo now? That did not make sense. Unless something had changed; unless the boy had evolved his eyes further. The Eternal Mangekyō Sharingan was the only known path to full Susanoo mastery, and if Renjiro had achieved it, then he had become something far more dangerous than Danzo had ever anticipated.
He folded the scroll, his decision made. He told the Root operative to prepare for immediate return to Konoha. There was no delay, no hesitation; he needed to see for himself what Renjiro had become. The boy had grown too powerful, too quickly; he needed to be monitored, controlled, or neutralised.
Before leaving, he asked about Orochimaru. The Root operative reported that several summons had gone unanswered, and Danzo's eye narrowed. This was unlike Orochimaru. The Snake Sannin normally replied, especially regarding Hashirama Cells; Danzo was carrying a sample, intended to exchange for another favour. Now, Orochimaru had vanished without response or explanation. Danzo began suspecting that something was wrong, though not enough to panic, only enough to investigate. The timing was suspicious; Renjiro's power increase, Orochimaru's silence, and the appearance of the Susanoo all seemed connected.
Cut away from Root entirely; transition back to Konoha. The village was quiet, peaceful, its streets bathed in the soft light of evening. Civilians moved through their routines, unaware of the tensions that churned beneath the surface. Lanterns flickered to life as darkness descended, casting warm pools of light across the cobblestones.
At the Sarutobi compound, Hiruzen sat alone in his backyard, his pipe in hand, smoke drifting upward into the darkening sky. The evening atmosphere was reflective; old trees lined the walls, their leaves rustling in the gentle breeze. The scent of tobacco mingled with the fragrance of night-blooming flowers, creating a sense of peace that belied the turmoil in his thoughts. He sensed a chakra signature through one of his summoning seals; without surprise, he performed a single hand sign. A small puff of smoke, and a sealed scroll appeared.
He opened it and began reading. His normal expression shifted; his eyes widened as he recognised the report. Confusion, concern, and disbelief flickered across his aged face. The report detailed Renjiro's battle with Orochimaru, the techniques used, and the outcome. He read it twice, then a third time, trying to reconcile the information with his understanding of the young shinobi.
He quietly muttered, his voice carrying the weight of his realisation.
"…Why would Renjiro fight Orochimaru?"
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