From the rooftop of a modest building just beyond the market's edge, two figures watched the raised platform at its heart.
At the executioner's sharp command of "Execute," the ninja escorting the Kumogakure envoy drew his long sword without hesitation and brought it down in a single, clean stroke. The head fell away.
As it rolled across the wood, gasps rippled through the crowd like wind through dry leaves.
"And then?"
Nara Shikaku turned to the silver-haired youth at his side.
Publicly proclaiming Kumogakure's crimes before the beheading had been Kakashi's idea.
"With righteousness on our side, we take the first move," Kakashi said, his voice steady, gaze fixed on the distant scene.
By naming the envoy's sins and severing his head in front of the village, they told every soul in Konoha that the Hokage had not spurned peace or invited war. It was the Raikage of Kumogakure—cruel, grasping, insatiable—who had forced their hand. Righteous fury would swell in every chest.
This was justice.
The village's blood was already stirring; soon it would boil.
Now it was time to act beyond the walls.
"Salt the head," Kakashi continued. "Pack it with the other three and deliver the bundle to the Raikage's own desk."
"Make the incident known to every corner of the shinobi world. Demand apology and reparations within three days."
"Or we meet on the battlefield."
His calm words made Shikaku's eyes narrow a fraction.
The Raikage had come cloaked in peace-talks, eyes fixed on the Byakugan. His next play would be to flip the board, to paint Konoha as the aggressor and wring concessions from them.
If Konoha wished to avoid open war, it would have to eat the loss.
But follow Kakashi's path—four heads in a box, the crime shouted from every rooftop—and the choice of war or peace slid squarely onto the Raikage's shoulders.
Endure the insult, and Kumogakure would be branded cowards, their honor drenched in shame for generations.
Declare war in fury, and the Raikage became the aggressor who lit the fuse.
Either way, Konoha's ninjas would fight with fire in their veins.
An open trap. No matter which lever the Raikage pulled, the jaws snapped shut.
Kumogakure's word would rot in every alliance hall. Any future foe would weigh their promises and find them light as ash—unless, of course, the Cloud could crush the entire shinobi world beneath one heel.
Shikaku studied the young man beside him and felt the future shifting. Konoha was raising a leader—hard-edged, unflinching, magnetic.
Raw power.
Among the new generation, only Asuma could have stood toe-to-toe with him, and Asuma had already bowed out at the jōnin meeting. Might Guy called Kakashi his eternal rival yet wore his heart on his sleeve.
Shikaku could almost see the Hokage's hat settling on silver hair.
"You're every bit Minato's equal," he said quietly.
As Minato Namikaze's friend, Shikaku knew the Fourth's brilliance and warmth like his own shadow. Kakashi was the man's student, yet this cold-blooded calculation—this willingness to draw first blood—felt sharper than Minato had ever allowed himself.
If it had been Minato… a rueful smile, a late-night strategy session over tea, maybe a grumble to Kushina over dinner.
Kakashi flicked a glance at him. "My teacher stands on a summit I'll never climb."
"I've still got plenty to learn."
"Count on me to lean on you from now on, Shikaku-senpai."
Shikaku gave a short nod and let the matter rest.
Kakashi cast one last look at the seething crowd, then slipped away alone. Shikaku remained on the rooftop, wind tugging at his ponytail.
The plan was laid; the Hokage's strategist would carry it to Hiruzen. All that remained was to sharpen blades and wait for the storm.
Kakashi's mind had already moved past if to when. The Raikage would never swallow four salted heads. Only victory on the field could scrub the stain from Kumogakure's banneries. And the Fourth Raikage—hot-tempered, proud—would come roaring.
Kakashi walked the empty street toward home. The execution had drawn every curious soul to the market; the village felt hollow, echoing.
His fingers brushed something solid in his pocket.
…Icha Icha Paradise? Hikari's gift?
A strange half-smile tugged at his visible eye.
Just one page…
He had never shared Jiraiya's particular obsessions, but even Kakashi knew the Sannin was one of the few novelists the entire shinobi world read in secret.
He pulled the little orange book free and cracked it open.
Huh.
The opening lines were… delicate. In three sentences Jiraiya sketched a rogue with charm and melancholy—nothing like the leering toad-sage who haunted bathhouses.
"Kakashi!"
A bright, bell-like voice shattered the moment.
"Yuhi?"
He turned. Kurenai Yuhi stood a few paces away, red eyes narrowed in playful accusation.
"What's that in your hand?"
"Hikari's hand-me-down, right?"
She closed the distance in quick strides, cheeks puffed with indignation as she glared at the book.
Damn it!
That little brat had every advantage—living under the same roof!
So young and already shameless, sharing a house with a boy!
Kurenai ground her teeth.
She had known Kakashi first—classmate, teammate, comrade. Three years of dropping by the Hatake compound should have counted for something.
Yet somehow Hikari had wormed her way into the middle.
The two girls circled each other like wary cats, trading barbs laced with honey and venom. Kakashi often found himself refereeing a scene straight out of some imperial harem drama.
"I was bored," he said, lifting the book. "Lord Jiraiya's prose isn't half bad."
"Hmph. I would never read trash like that."
Kurenai tossed her dark, wavy hair, but her vermilion eyes betrayed a flicker of sour jealousy.
Then the edge softened. "I heard you handled those Cloud envoys last night. You're not hurt, are you?"
Genuine worry warmed her gaze.
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