The Land of Fire — the Daimyō's Mansion.
It was night, and a half-moon hung in the sky.
On the roof sat a young man with black hair, a cigarette dangling from his mouth. Bored out of his mind, he exhaled a lazy stream of smoke.
Below, soldiers clad in armor and armed with long spears patrolled in neat formation.
The young man was one of the Twelve Guardian Ninja—elite protectors of the Fire Daimyō. The soldiers and the Guardian Ninja together formed an impenetrable defense, so tight that even a fly would struggle to get in.
"Bzzz…"
The cigarette-smoking young man slapped his cheek. When he opened his palm, a dead mosquito lay in it.
"Asuma, looks like you're quite the popular one tonight," came a teasing voice from behind.
The man called Asuma turned to see a bald-headed monk approaching—the moonlight gleaming off his head.
This was Chiriku, a rare warrior monk and Asuma's closest friend.
"Cut it out. I'd rather not be the kind of guy mosquitoes love," Asuma shot back, smirking. "I'd say they probably prefer you anyway—less hair to get through."
Chiriku chuckled, but his expression soon turned serious. "About Kazuma…"
Asuma's face lost its humor. "I know."
Kazuma, like them, was also one of the Twelve Guardian Ninja. Lately, however, he and Asuma had clashed bitterly over the very meaning of the Hokage's existence.
"Why did it have to come to this…"
"Who knows? Let me return to the village for a while. We'll talk things out again after that."
The old man from the village—his father, the Third Hokage—had sent a letter summoning him back urgently.
"Then get some rest tonight. I'll take your shift."
The Twelve Guardian Ninja took turns standing watch around the clock to protect the Daimyō.
"Thanks, I owe you."
Asuma didn't refuse. He trusted Chiriku's strength, and since his friend lived nearby, he could respond immediately if anything happened.
Asuma vaulted down and returned to his room. After a quick wash, he lay down to sleep.
He dozed lightly for a while. Then, somehow, the window creaked open. The curtain fluttered as the night wind slipped inside—accompanied by a faint sound that didn't belong to the wind.
Asuma's eyes snapped open. He threw off his blanket and hurled it toward the window, using it as cover as he dropped into a defensive stance.
"Relax."
A calm male voice echoed through the room. But the words only made Asuma tenser. "Who's there?"
Under the moonlight stood a man with white hair that shimmered faintly in the dark—his features sharp and handsome, impossible to forget at first glance.
Beside him was a black-haired boy, also handsome, perhaps twelve or thirteen years old—still very young.
The odd pairing made Asuma's curiosity spike.
Then the white-haired man's eyes shifted, revealing a three-tomoe Sharingan.
"My name is Uchiha Tōshirō," he said evenly. "You've probably heard of me."
Then he gestured to the boy beside him. "And this is Uchiha Itachi."
Asuma frowned slightly. The name Tōshirō rang a bell—his father's letter had mentioned that name. Someone who was supposed to be dead, now mysteriously alive again.
"You don't show up in the middle of the night just to take a stroll, do you?" Asuma said dryly, trying to ease the tension. "Besides, this is the Daimyō's mansion—not a place just anyone can walk into."
Even though they were from the same village, it was hardly normal for the man to appear like this.
Tōshirō smiled faintly. "Of course not. I'm not that bored. I came to ask for your help."
That immediately made Asuma uneasy. "What kind of help?" he asked, a bad feeling creeping up inside.
"As someone who grew up in Konoha," Tōshirō said slowly, "you must know about the Uchiha clan's current predicament."
Asuma nodded, not denying it.
"My request," Tōshirō continued, "is that you help the Uchiha clan change that predicament."
Asuma exhaled in relief—he'd feared it was something worse. "I sympathize with your situation, but honestly, there's nothing I can do."
He was the Hokage's son, yes, but he had no say in village politics.
Tōshirō shook his head. "You can do something—as long as you become Hokage."
Asuma froze, then gave a dry laugh. "If that's what you mean, forget it. I've got no interest in becoming Hokage—and I'm not exactly cut out for it."
Tōshirō chuckled softly, as if amused by a misunderstanding.
"Heh…"
Asuma frowned. There was something dark in that laugh. "What's so funny?"
"I think you've misunderstood me," Tōshirō said calmly.
"What do you mean?"
"When I said someone should become Hokage," Tōshirō smiled, "I wasn't talking about you. I meant me."
"What!?" Asuma's eyes widened.
"And for that," Tōshirō continued, "I need your help. If I have the full support of the Hokage's own son, I'm confident I can secure the position."
Asuma suddenly recalled a passage in his father's letter about discussions regarding the next Hokage. Combined with Tōshirō's sudden appearance, everything started to make sense.
Tōshirō wanted him to influence his father—to say a few words that could sway the Hokage's decision.
But Asuma wasn't well-versed in politics, nor did he believe a few words from him could change his father's mind.
"Even if I support you," Asuma said slowly, "my influence would be minimal—probably nonexistent. I don't see where your confidence comes from."
"Don't underestimate yourself," Tōshirō replied with a mysterious smile. "You have more influence than you realize."
"And why's that?" Asuma asked, frowning.
"A good question," Tōshirō said. "But before I answer, there's something I need to show you."
He turned to Itachi. "Itachi."
The boy nodded, raised two fingers, and his Sharingan spun rapidly.
Asuma's surroundings suddenly began to change.
"Relax," Tōshirō's voice came again. "This isn't genjutsu—it's a Sharingan ability. It lets the user project what their eyes have seen, like a film."
As he finished speaking, Asuma found himself standing in another room. Four elderly figures sat together, and before them knelt a dark-haired boy.
Those elders were none other than Konoha's upper council: Shimura Danzō, Mitokado Homura, Utatane Koharu, and the Third Hokage—his own father, Sarutobi Hiruzen.
And the kneeling boy was Uchiha Itachi.
The conversation that unfolded was horrifying.
The Uchiha planned to launch a coup—and in response, the village's top brass had decided to massacre the entire clan.
The scene shifted. Danzō privately ordered Itachi to slaughter his people.
Then the vision ended.
Tōshirō spoke again, his tone calm but heavy. "Now you understand why I need to become Hokage. For my clan's sake, I must."
"There has to be some mistake…"
Asuma couldn't believe it. He'd been away for a while, but could the village really have fallen this far?
"This isn't something you can dismiss as a misunderstanding," Tōshirō said coldly.
"…What do you want me to do?" Asuma asked finally.
"Nothing complicated," Tōshirō replied with a faint smile. "I just want you to do what Itachi did."
End of Chapter)
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