"Captain, your perception jutsu is really something. You caught that spy like it was nothing."
On the road back, Uchiha Shu couldn't help but sigh in admiration.
Shin chuckled. "Useful, isn't it? You think this is part of our Uchiha clan's ninjutsu?"
They weren't rookies as both knew perception styles well enough. The Hyūga, Aburame, Inuzuka… each had their own methods of tracking, but none so efficient as what their captain had just used.
"This isn't an Uchiha technique," Gen said casually. "It's a perception jutsu developed by Lord Orochimaru."
When you can't explain something, blame your teacher. No one can really check, and even if someone tries, Orochimaru's name covers it well enough.
"As expected of one of the Legendary Sannin," Shu muttered. "To create something this powerful and convenient…"
The two sighed in unison, accepting it without doubt. For someone of Orochimaru's caliber, such feats weren't surprising.
"Shu, take this spy to the T&I unit," Gen instructed. Then, with a grin: "And bring back seventeen cups of instant noodles. The brothers are probably starving."
"Hah, understood, Captain."
Shu smiled, and Gen returned it. A considerate leader was a leader worth following. Even a simple bowl of noodles showed his care, and that went a long way.
Back at their camp in the forest, Uchiha Gen leaned back against a tree, eyes half-closed in rest.
He didn't stir until Shu returned, arms full of steaming noodles. Gen rose, gathered two subordinates, and handed out the food himself; an easy way to earn trust while quietly probing the area further.
It wasn't laziness. His soul perception was powerful, but shadow clones couldn't share his soul, and without that link, they couldn't perceive the way he did. To his subordinates, it would look strange if he revealed the soul directly, so instead, he split fragments of it to sweep the surroundings.
Even in ninja eyes, that kind of thing didn't pass unnoticed.
After circling the area, the three returned, boiled water with Fire Release, and happily dug into their noodles. Out in the wilderness, even instant noodles could taste divine especially when hunger and exhaustion sharpened the flavor.
For a moment, simple food became happiness itself.
The rest of the night passed quietly. By daybreak, Ninth Squad withdrew to rest.
…
During daylight, Konoha swarmed with eyes and ears. Spies from every nation were trapped inside; slipping out became nearly impossible. Notices were posted across the village urging civilians to report suspicious behavior, and the villagers were eager to cooperate, after all, a stronger Konoha meant a safer, better life for them.
With their help, Konoha could spare more ninja for the perimeter. The outskirts were wrapped in layers of sealing barriers and patrol routes, tighter than anything set at night.
Only a fool would attempt escape in broad daylight. Delivering intelligence under such conditions was practically suicide. And spies knew well; most who were caught by other villages never met a good end.
But Konoha couldn't stay sealed forever. Merchants and nobles from across the nations needed access. The village couldn't lock its gates indefinitely.
So the spy networks bided their time, delaying reports rather than throwing lives away. Intelligence lost a little value in delay, but strategy could survive without immediacy.
…
The following morning, Gen had just finished a sleepless night on watch and was planning to collapse into bed when the summons came. He was to attend the funeral of Namikaze Minato—the Fourth Hokage himself.
There was no question of refusing. Not every ninja was invited to honor the Fourth, and among the Uchiha, only the clan head, three elders, Shisui, and Gen had the right to attend.
He straightened his clothes, forcing alertness into his tired body. Youth had its benefits; he could endure the exhaustion.
The funeral wasn't held at Minato's home as it was far too small. Instead, the ceremony filled the Hokage's Residence.
Inside the solemn hall, Gen followed Fugaku and the elders in respectful silence. Together they bowed, then circled the flower-draped coffin to lay down their white chrysanthemums.
Minato's coffin was open. His body had been carefully treated, his face restored with subtle makeup. He lay with hands folded on his abdomen, skin warm-toned and serene, almost as though he were only sleeping.
Family members stood nearby to thank the mourners. Kushina, Kakashi, and Shisui all wore plain black mourning robes, their faces pale and hollow.
Kushina's eyes were red and swollen, a grief too deep to hide. Mikoto stood at her side, the presence of a lifelong friend offering a strength neither Kakashi nor Shisui could provide.
Naruto was absent still too young to witness such a thing. Jiraiya too had not appeared, perhaps still away on his travels.
Fugaku offered words of comfort on behalf of the clan, then stepped aside. Time was short, and behind them stretched a line of mourners waiting their turn.
Yet Fugaku's grief was plain. For him, Minato's death was not just the loss of a comrade, but the shattering of his own hopes, the dream of Hokage tied inextricably to Minato's success.
After the flowers were laid, mourners gathered in the residence until the hour of burial.
When the time came, Kushina broke. As the coffin was lowered, she cried out, reaching desperately as if she might follow Minato into the earth itself. Even battle-hardened shinobi, men and women long accustomed to death, turned their eyes away, stricken.
Mikoto caught her, holding her tightly until the others' quiet words of comfort eased her sobs into silence.
The earth closed over the coffin, and with it, the era of Namikaze Minato ended.
Rain fell soon after, a soft drizzle that blurred the edges of the memorial. Not a violent storm, but something heavier; grief itself, condensed into the air.
Kushina, clad in mourning black, her long red hair a muted flame in the gray light, bowed low before the stone. Many who had lost loved ones looked on with complicated feelings.
By reason, the true culprit was the masked attacker. Minato had given his life to save the village. Yet the Nine-Tails had come from Kushina's body, and in their pain, some could not help but feel uneasy. It wasn't blame, not outright. Just the instinctive distance born of loss.
At last, the ceremony ended. One by one, the mourners dispersed into the rain, each returning to their own lives in a village scarred but standing.
…
Three days later, the ruins of Konoha were cleared, and plans for reconstruction moved forward.
On the eve of the council meeting, Danzo paid a quiet visit to Mitokado Homura. His request was simple, call Koharu and Hiruzen.
They had much to discuss.