Chapter 83: The Mutual Aid Association
Logically speaking, with the appearance of such immense chakra fluctuations and traces of advanced techniques, Konoha's Uchiha Police Force should have already arrived to investigate.
But things were different now.
Most members of the Uchiha Police were under strict surveillance due to their close ties with Aizen. The major clans had started pulling their own people into the force to gradually assume control, which quickly escalated into large scale friction between the clans and the Uchiha.
Across the village, shinobi in Blut Vene combat suits clashed violently. Though no fatalities had occurred yet, the frequent use of Senjutsu and the passive resistance of the two major clans had already caused Konoha's security to spiral downward. The unrest had no clear solution—and the true cause remained buried beneath political tension.
The Mutual Aid Association was an unofficial group founded by Konoha's younger generation, modeled after Aizen's ideals and actions.
They weren't bound to any clan or official organization. Instead, they were simply a collective of young shinobi who admired Aizen and grew up watching him rise to power.
Although Aizen hadn't been particularly old, those five years older or younger than him had essentially witnessed his every step—from his early missions to his position as Konoha's Advisor. Many of them, like Minato, had been saved by Aizen's guidance during their most hopeless moments.
Within the Mutual Aid Association, there were no class distinctions. No clan hierarchies. Whether commoner or noble, every member wore a white haori, symbolizing their unity and devotion to the village. They had always been seen as harmless idealists—orderly, disciplined, and loyal. No one, perhaps, had loved Konoha more deeply than they did.
But after Aizen's conflicts with the higher clans deepened, the Association began to take on a political shape. These young shinobi openly declared their allegiance—to Aizen.
And they were far from powerless. Most of its members were elite ninjas—Konoha's backbone.
A ninja's prime years span roughly twenty years, from fifteen to thirty five. And during those two decades, most of the rising generation had been shaped under Aizen's influence.
After Aizen's death, the once innocent Association crystallized into something sharper, colder. They began purging dissenters who refused to avenge him. What had once been a youth organization now occupied a significant part of Konoha—and had, to some extent, become a rebellious faction.
Their demands were clear: summon all clan leaders, expose their secret dealings, and explain why Aizen had died so quietly atop the Hokage Rock in the dead of night—and how many clans had been complicit in his murder.
But such demands were intolerable to the ruling families.
Were they supposed to reveal clan secrets? To stand trial before their own subordinates? And where was the evidence? What right did these young shinobi have to make such accusations?
At this crucial moment, the Third Hokage collapsed from exhaustion and grief over Aizen's death. Konoha fell into chaos. Even the other great nations began to stir restlessly, sensing blood in the water.
And in the center of this storm—the eye of chaos—the Mutual Aid Association remained eerily calm.
"Everyone, I'm here."
Minato's calm voice carried across the dimly lit hall.
Dozens of figures stood before him, all dressed in white haori. When counting the guards outside and the scattered patrols throughout the district, nearly thirty percent of Konoha's young shinobi had joined the Association.
And that wasn't counting those who supported them in secret—especially the Uchiha.
Among the crowd, the crimson glow of several Sharingan pairs gleamed in the shadows. Their collective gaze carried a grief that words could not express.
Aizen had been the only high ranking official who truly extended a hand to the Uchiha.
He had worked tirelessly to break their curse—an endless cycle of love and loss that drove them to madness. He helped them analyze the nature of the Sharingan, identifying the emotional wounds that fueled it. He guided them away from tragedy, offering knowledge that could have freed them from their own blood's cruelty.
The night Aizen died, the Uchiha had already assembled their warriors. Had it not been for restraint and foresight, Konoha might have burned that very night.
Even so, the sorrow etched across their faces was unmistakable.
There is nothing more painful than losing the one person who truly understood you.
But the Uchiha weren't alone here. Among the gathered were also shinobi with pale eyes from the Hyuga Clan—and a silver haired youth who stood out quietly among them.
"Hey," Kakashi said, turning slightly as Minato sat down beside him. "Did you fight someone?"
Minato's aura was tense, his chakra sharp and unsteady. Even his eyes held a faint, unnatural glimmer.
"I can feel the change in your chakra," Kakashi said quietly, his tone calm but perceptive. "Even your pupils… they've changed color. Who was it?"
Minato gave a faint, weary smile.
"…Just a small matter."
"Jiraiya, wasn't it?"
"Yeah."
Kakashi nodded slightly, his expression unreadable. "He's always been loyal to the village, but his sense of judgment doesn't work very well. He doesn't understand the situation."
As the leader of Konoha's Blut Arterie and Blut Vene research team, Kakashi's voice remained low and detached, as though discussing someone he barely knew.
"Jiraiya's always had that naïve, stubborn streak," Kakashi continued. "He looks like a responsible adult, but in reality, he's worse than the rest of us. He cries and shouts for what he wants, but he never owns up to what he's done. It's easy to let him ruin things… but almost impossible to make him fix them."
"I know," Minato replied softly. "That's why I pinned him down. I almost killed him. But Brother Aizen once said… I can't let myself be blinded by hatred."
"Where's your wife?"
"She agreed to stay quiet."
"Good. The last thing we need is for her to get dragged into this."
Their conversation continued in hushed tones—calm, almost casual, as if no blood had been shed between them.
The conflict between the two had always been tempered by Aizen's presence. As long as Aizen lived, they could argue, clash, and even come close to fighting—because they knew there would always be a gentle hand to stop them.
But now… that hand was gone.
The man who smiled patiently at their quarrels, who told them both they were doing fine, was gone forever.
There was no longer any need for pride or restraint. There was only grief—and the void Aizen had left behind.
As more members filled the room, the restless energy thickened. The young shinobi, who had been holding back their fury for days, finally began to speak up.
"…Those clans must pay," one of the Uchiha muttered through clenched teeth, his nails digging into his palms until blood dripped between his fingers.
"We all know that Lord Aizen wanted to end every conflict that night! He had already found a peaceful solution—it just wasn't announced yet! But what happened instead?"
"Lord Aizen's quarters were sealed off! The higher ups told us not to speak of his death!" another Uchiha shouted, his voice trembling with rage. "We're not fools! Someone killed him in secret!"
His Sharingan spun violently as he glared around the room.
"We are the strongest village in the world! The Byakugan and Sharingan see everything—every patrol, every shift change, every movement inside the village! The only ones who could know Aizen's routine so precisely are high ranking shinobi!"
He slammed his fist against the wall.
"And where is the Hokage now? Hiding in the hospital, pretending to be unconscious? We all know the Third isn't truly comatose—he just doesn't want to face the truth!"
His voice cracked with fury.
"In the end, that so called hero is nothing but a coward! He failed to stand up for the clans before—and now he won't even face Aizen's death! Is he still worthy of the title Hokage?"
"…Watch your words."
A few shinobi tried to calm him down, their voices low and uneasy. But none of them truly objected. Even Minato remained silent, his gaze distant.
For three days, every one of them had been lost—adrift in the storm Aizen's death had left behind.
Without their guiding light, these young shinobi—brilliant, capable, but divided—could not unite. No one was willing to take command. No one could. They knew the rot was inside the village, festering beneath its walls, yet they were powerless to act.
Their anger had no outlet. Their grief had nowhere to go.
Then, a sudden clap echoed from the back of the room.
A blonde girl stood, her hands dusting off her cloak. The sharp sound drew every eye toward her.
"Hey, everyone," she said calmly. "Not only can I confirm that someone from the village killed Lord Aizen—but I can also confirm that Lord Aizen is not dead."
"What?!"
"Do you have proof?"
Dozens of voices rose in disbelief as the crowd turned toward the speaker—Yakushi Nono, her dark rimmed eyes burning with quiet conviction.
"Of course I do," she said hoarsely. "I used the Impure World Reincarnation technique… and Lord Aizen's soul wasn't among the dead."
The room fell utterly silent.
"I stole samples of his body tissue," Nono continued. "But the summoning failed. There was no soul to call back. Which means his soul wasn't taken to the afterlife—it was collected."
She adjusted her glasses, her tone growing steadier, almost fanatical.
"Furthermore, the chakra network Lord Aizen established throughout Konoha hasn't shown a single irregularity. If time space ninjutsu had displaced his soul, the network would've collapsed. But it hasn't."
Her eyes glimmered beneath the dim light.
"Which means… Lord Aizen's soul is still here. Still in Konoha."
The air seemed to freeze.
And then—an almost electric tension rippled through the room.
Isn't this reason enough to act together?
What came next was inevitable.
They didn't need orders. They didn't need speeches.
They simply stood, one after another, determination burning in their eyes.
Outside, the storm raged on as dozens of teams dispersed into the night—spreading like shadows across Konoha, determined to find the truth.
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