Chapter 79: Lord Hokage, Have You Betrayed Me Too?
"Hokage-sama, why are you here with us instead of handling government affairs?"
"How can foreign relations not be considered government affairs?"
"But this is just an embassy. Even if there were issues, Konoha's diplomats should be the ones stationed here. Why would you personally come, Hokage-sama?"
"Because I value our relationship," Hiruzen replied calmly, sipping his tea. "And I prefer to see with my own eyes what the ninjas of other villages are truly like."
The young Mist shinobi scratched his head awkwardly. "But I'm just a genin… an attendant. There's really no point in talking with me."
"As the saying goes, a single thread can reveal the whole weave," Hiruzen said with a faint smile. "It's precisely because you're a genin that I can understand the heart of your village better."
"…"
Is this man insane?
The Kirigakure ninja had been forced into conversation for an entire day and was beginning to lose patience. He glanced at the gray-haired Hokage before him, wondering if this old man was simply bored—or worse, senile.
It had been nearly two weeks since the Hokage had arrived at the Kirigakure embassy. He had first visited the Cloud embassy but was practically shouted out of the building. Then he moved on to the Sand and Stone delegations, where the two villages—unusually cordial with each other—politely redirected him to the Mist embassy "for diplomatic support."
Diplomatic support, my foot.
Everyone knew that "foreign relations" in Konoha were little more than attempts to sway other nations to its side. But the Hidden Mist wasn't interested in becoming anyone's subordinate. After all, everyone remembered what happened to the Land of Whirlpools—being Konoha's ally could be even deadlier than being its enemy.
So, despite all his polite explanations, the Mist shinobi couldn't help but feel a mix of irritation and confusion as the strongest Hokage in history sat before him, acting as though he had nothing better to do than drink tea in an embassy.
If not for Konoha's restraint and the absence of any suspicious moves from the Hokage, the Mist diplomats might have suspected they'd committed some terrible crime and were now under personal surveillance.
Yet, what none of them could imagine was how anxious and conflicted Sarutobi Hiruzen truly was beneath his calm expression.
The clan ninjas must not be antagonized… but the younger generation, and Aizen's reforms… they're not wrong either.
He took another sip of tea, trying to still his thoughts, but his mind was already racing.
As Hokage, he was obligated to look at the bigger picture. Even while hiding in the embassy, Sarutobi still had access to more information than anyone else in the ninja world. He knew of the Moon Dream epidemic, the growing resentment toward the clans, and the economic paralysis threatening Konoha.
The clans—once Konoha's greatest pillars—had now become chains around its neck.
Their rigid hierarchy and monopolization of resources were dragging the village down. But everyone, even the most ignorant of bureaucrats, understood what was happening. The clans were simply exploiting what little time remained before inevitable unification under the pressure of war.
The Moon Dream had only accelerated their decline. Profit always led to oppression—and oppression always led to rebellion. When that oppression reached its limit, even dreams could turn deadly.
From a purely logical standpoint, Hiruzen should have stepped in to end the chaos immediately, rather than allowing Aizen to stand at the forefront of reform alone.
Yet there was one inconvenient truth—one that made decisive action impossible.
He, Sarutobi Hiruzen, was also a clan leader.
The Sarutobi family, though not as large as the Hyuga or Uchiha, was still a major Konoha clan. And as its head, he couldn't act too rashly without inviting ruin upon his own kin.
In contrast, Shimura Danzo could. Danzo had long abandoned all personal ties, dedicating everything to Konoha in pursuit of his ideal "Dark Ninja Theory." It was why his influence had grown so much within the village.
But Danzo was currently away—touring the other nations on a diplomatic mission—and had temporarily transferred his advisory authority to Aizen.
And so, Hiruzen could only let the young man take the lead.
He felt guilty—deeply so. Aizen Sosuke's courage, his idealism, his defiance of corruption… all of it reminded Hiruzen of the man he once was.
But guilt did not change reality.
Unless disaster struck the village directly, Sarutobi Hiruzen could not, as Hokage and as head of the Sarutobi clan, openly move against the families.
Because standing against the clans meant betraying his own bloodline—and all the alliances tied to it. There was no way back. Once he took that step, Sarutobi Hiruzen would be at odds with everything his family had built over generations.
And that was not the path he wanted.
But life, as always, had other plans. Even though Hiruzen had long accepted his own cowardice in certain matters, reality refused to let him rest.
"Hokage-sama! Please come out and deliver justice!"
"Lord Aizen is exhausted! Please hear us, Hokage-sama!"
"The clans are lawless! It's time to strike them down!"
"…!"
Hearing the shouts outside the window—the sound of torches flickering in the fog and the sight of white haori gleaming under the moonlight—Sarutobi Hiruzen sighed. The young Mist genin across from him looked on with thinly veiled curiosity, unsure whether to be amused or concerned.
The scene that Hiruzen had dreaded most had finally arrived. Despite Aizen's efforts to restrain the reformists and the clans' attempts to maintain control, confrontation was now inevitable.
The Will of Fire had always encouraged individuality among Konoha's people—to have one's own heart, one's own ideals. But the strength of that freedom was also its greatest curse.
Still, Hiruzen consoled himself. Aizen's teachings aren't wrong. They've only become… misunderstood.
Taking a deep breath, he rose from his seat. If the Will of Fire demanded that he face his people, then he would do so, even if his heart was heavy.
When he stepped outside into the damp night, the sight before him made his chest tighten.
A sea of figures stood beneath the misty moonlight, each one holding a burning torch. They wore white haori or dark robes, but few—very few—wore the traditional green flak vests of Konoha.
Ever since the introduction of the Blut Vene and Blut Arterie techniques, the old ninja vests had become impractical—too restrictive for chakra circulation. But even knowing that, the sight unsettled him deeply.
It was as if, without anyone realizing, Konoha itself had quietly changed form.
They looked like his shinobi—but something inside them had shifted.
Suppressing the unease that gnawed at his chest, the Third Hokage stepped forward and addressed the crowd.
"I already know why you've come here," he said, his voice calm but firm.
Facing the restless young shinobi, he continued, "But I am still the Third Hokage. You should understand that as shinobi, your duty is to obey your Kage—not to parade through the streets. I have already made my decision on this matter. Go home and wait for further orders. I assure you that Aizen and I will provide a proper resolution."
"…!"
"Why are you still standing here?" he snapped. "Do you want the other nations to laugh at Konoha's disgrace? Go home! I will discuss this matter with Aizen personally."
"Hokage-sama…" a trembling voice called out from the crowd. "Have you… betrayed us too?"
"—!"
The words struck him like a blade to the chest.
For a moment, Sarutobi Hiruzen's composure faltered. Rage flickered in his eyes, and he nearly shouted back instinctively.
Betrayed?
How dare they say that? Everything I've done—every sacrifice—has been for Konoha!
But as his gaze swept over the faces before him, his anger crumbled.
Under the dim glow of the torches, he saw not defiance but exhaustion. Disappointment. Youths who had given everything for a dream—and felt abandoned by those they trusted most.
The Hokage's lips trembled, but he swallowed his retort.
They're not wrong, he thought bitterly.
The clans had failed their people. Their greed and complacency had driven these young shinobi to desperation. These white-robed reformists would one day become Konoha's next generation, and yet here they stood, lost and furious.
If he didn't act now, the consequences would go far beyond embarrassment—it would fracture the very heart of Konoha.
Glancing at the foreign envoys peering curiously from the embassy windows, Hiruzen made his decision.
"Tomorrow," he declared solemnly, "everything will be resolved. I will personally handle these issues."
He paused, scanning the crowd.
"Konoha is not merely a village of clans—it is a village of people. Of families. We are Konoha, and the Will of Fire does not belong to one bloodline alone. It burns for all."
"But before we move forward," he continued, "we must not lose our composure. I know your struggles, your patience, and your good hearts. I know you have tried to cleanse this village of corruption in your own way."
"However," he said, his tone sharpening slightly, "you underestimate the resolve of the older generation. As the Third Hokage, I will not abandon my duty. I will deliver justice—tomorrow."
He took a breath, then softened his tone again.
"You are Konoha's future. Its pride. Go home and rest. Tomorrow, Aizen and I will give you the answers you seek."
For a moment, silence hung over the crowd. Then came the low murmur of voices, whispers spreading like ripples through still water.
Though many were confused, even disappointed, the Hokage's words carried the weight of authority. And so, one by one, the young shinobi dispersed into the mist, their torches dimming against the fog.
To question the Hokage—especially one who promised to act—would be unthinkable.
Relieved, Hiruzen turned away, unaware of the strange glimmer in the eyes of those who watched him leave.
And as he hurried through the quiet streets toward Aizen's residence, the white-cloaked youths followed him with their gaze—watching the weary, retreating figure of their leader.
To them, that back looked all too familiar.
The back of someone who once believed in change—
and chose fear instead.
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