When the news of war reached Konoha, a heavy sigh seemed to ripple through the village.
Peace had been so brief. No sooner had people begun to breathe easier than chaos returned.
"When will it end?" many shinobi muttered, though they knew the answer. In their world, peace was never more than a pause.
For most, the war would remain distant. Not every ninja was sent to the front lines, especially in smaller campaigns. Still, someone always had to go, and those chosen were usually the less gifted civilians or family members without strong backing.
The great clans only dispatched a handful of their shinobi, and those were placed in carefully chosen, often prestigious, roles.
Elites of the clans and promising civilian talents shinobi assigned to administration, education, or key support posts; these rarely saw battle unless the war turned catastrophic.
Medical-nin were another matter. Those without influence and not particularly outstanding might find themselves pushed forward, but even then, they were far too valuable to be wasted. Most stayed in the rear, protected, for the life of a trained medic was worth far more than that of ten ordinary soldiers.
Tsunade had once dreamed of every squad carrying a medical-nin.
It was a noble vision, but the reality was harsher; the entry bar for medical ninjutsu was simply too high. Even the famed Twelve Guardian Shinobi had failed to meet the ratio she envisioned. The gap was still vast.
Uchiha Gen received the news of the war's outbreak, but he hardly blinked. His life continued as it always had; slipping between duties, training, and pleasures.
He drifted through shifts at the Police Force, collected souls for his strange power, studied new ninjutsu, visited Orochimaru on occasion, shared drinks with his beautiful subordinates, traded words with old classmates, and read whatever caught his interest.
Unless the situation became desperate, the Police Force would not be mobilized. It wasn't their duty.
And with Orochimaru standing behind him, there was even less chance Gen would be thrown into danger.
Kurenai, Anko, and Yugao were safe too; shielded either by Orochimaru's protection or by Gen himself. None of them would be pushed forward as expendables.
Not unless Gen himself chose to step onto the battlefield.
But he had no such plans, at least not yet.
He intended to wait for Orochimaru to take command.
By then, Gen's Mangekyō Sharingan would likely have awakened, and he would be ready. That was when the battlefield would truly become useful to him.
Souls of shinobi were far superior to those of common people. He couldn't afford to waste such an opportunity.
Still, he doubted Konoha's leadership would willingly give Orochimaru the front-line command.
The reason was simple; Hiruzen Sarutobi had already decided his prized student had strayed too far. To send Orochimaru to lead was to give him glory and potentially the right to claim the Hokage's seat.
If Orochimaru returned victorious, drenched in merit and fame, could Hiruzen still suppress him?
Gen's prediction was blunt; Orochimaru might be dispatched as a temporary 'firefighter,' a rescuer in emergencies.
But once the front stabilized, he would be replaced, his contribution deliberately diminished. Only by weakening his achievements could Hiruzen feel secure in denying him the title of Hokage.
That was when Gen would act. He would follow Orochimaru only after the man was replaced.
It wasn't mere loyalty to his master but practicality.
Orochimaru, a Kage-level powerhouse and a teacher who respected him, had the right to command him.
But to take orders from some ordinary elite jōnin? Unthinkable.
On the battlefield, timing mattered most. Enter at the right moment, unleash full strength, and harvest everything possible. With Orochimaru gone, Gen would have freedom to fight as he pleased, souls and lifespans all ripe for the taking.
He had no intention of hiding his strength either. The 'Homies' technique, the Mangekyō itself—if the battlefield demanded it, he would use them. Hesitation only invited trouble.
Show your fangs, and others feared you. Conceal them, and the pests came crawling. Like toads beneath one's feet, harmless, but endlessly irritating.
And if no opportunity came? Then the trump cards would stay hidden until the perfect moment.
Either way, Gen was determined; he would use the battlefield as his hunting ground.
That night, around nine o'clock, the Hokage returned home.
Hiruzen Sarutobi, once more bearing the weight of the Third Hokage's robes, stepped into his clan compound. His wife, Biwako, recovered, greeted him, slipping the heavy cloak from his shoulders.
"The Great Elder has been waiting in the tea room," she murmured.
Hiruzen's brow creased, then smoothed. He only nodded.
Moments later, dressed in simple white robes and drawing smoke from his pipe, he entered the tea room.
The Great Elder of the Sarutobi clan rose to greet him, bowing low. The man was built squarely, his face stern, a purple kimono marked with the clan crest draped over his shoulders.
"Lord Hokage."
Hiruzen's eyes narrowed. "Kōyō. What business brings you so late?" His tone carried a trace of impatience.
He had never liked the elder much. Too bound by clan self-interest. Too blind to the village's greater needs.
But Kōyō bowed deeper, undisturbed. "Forgive me for disturbing your rest, Hokage-sama. I have something important to propose."
"Speak plainly. As long as it doesn't harm the village, I'll hear it."
Kōyō's heart lightened. Whatever else, the Hokage always placed the village first. As long as clan interest didn't directly clash, he could still maneuver.
"I've heard the news. The war has begun. But the commander for the front has not yet been decided. I would like to recommend someone."
Hiruzen already knew where this was going. "Who?"
"Your son. Shinnosuke."
So that was it. His son, leader of the Anbu, who still dreamed of the Hokage's seat.
But commanding the Anbu and leading a battlefield force were two very different things. One misstep, and it wasn't just his own life on the line, but the lives of hundreds.
"Hokage-sama," the elder pressed, "I know you are wary of Orochimaru. You fear his rise. Aside from him, who else in the village has the qualifications to lead? Very few."
Hiruzen's eyes narrowed behind the smoke.
"Among those few, Shinnosuke stands out. Raised under your guidance, steady, thoughtful, experienced. For a thousand-man campaign, he is more than capable. And even should difficulties arise, you and the village will cover him. This is a chance for him, for the Sarutobi clan, for Konoha itself. Should he succeed, we could nurture him further. Imagine, Hokage-sama, two Hokage from one family. A legacy only the Senju have known."
"And if he fails?" Hiruzen asked coldly.
"Then it ends there. But should we not give him the chance to prove himself?"
The elder bowed lower still. "This is not only my plea, but the expectation of the entire clan."
Hiruzen puffed his pipe in silence, smoke curling through the dim tea room.
The elder waited, patient, knowing that no father, no matter how hardened, could entirely bury the wish for his son's success.
At last, Hiruzen exhaled and spoke. "Very well. I'll give him the chance. But to prevent recklessness, I'll assign Nara Shikaku to temper him."
"Hokage-sama is wise," Kōyō said gravely, though inside his heart leapt with triumph. With Shikaku and, soon, the Ino-Shika-Cho trio, Shinnosuke would have every support he needed. Even if the war did not yield glory, he would not fail.
Hiruzen's gaze drifted toward the door. "I'm tired. I'll rest now."
"Of course. Forgive my intrusion."
The next morning, the announcement came.
Sarutobi Shinnosuke was appointed commander of Konoha's forces on the Kumogakure front.
And at his side marched the newly assembled Ino-Shika-Cho trio—Yamanaka Inoichi, Nara Shikaku, and Akimichi Chōza—along with a host of Sarutobi clan shinobi.
The second generation had taken its first step onto the stage.