"I'm gonna flip Konoha upside down… make the Hyuga run the whole ninja world! I'm gonna be the goddamn Ninja Elder Supreme…"
Hyuga main-branch Grand Elder face-planted in the secret room's dirt floor, blood so thick it pooled black-red with drool. Gurgled like a busted bagpipe, body jackin' like he'd grabbed a live wire, bleeding from every hole in his skull. Still spittin' wilder charges than a tabloid on steroids. Dude who'd been scared of his own shadow now just wanted the reaper on speed dial.
Root goons didn't know the meaning of gentle.
Under the beefed-up Memory Recovery Jutsu, the old fart wove a confession tighter than a Rolex—logic bulletproof, zero plot holes.
Root ninja rolled the scroll, face blank as printer paper. Truth? Irrelevant. Danzo wanted results; results delivered.
Hiashi Hyuga stood in the room, screams outside fadin' to mumbles. Blood dripped from his fingertips—plink, plink—on white jade tiles like crushed red petals.
He blinked. Eyes reopened colder than a walk-in freezer.
Grand Elder's pulse? Not his problem. Dead? Bonus.
But Danzo grindin' a thousand years of Hyuga pride into the dirt? That shit burrowed bone-deep.
Hiashi locked eyes with Danzo, teeth grindin': "Hyuga eats this L."
Voice flat as the corridor stone: "But every fuckin' word you said today? Straight to the Third's desk."
Danzo snrk'd, cane tappin' the floor like a metronome of disdain.
Sue me? With what army? Hiruzen won't touch me.
Cold snort in his skull: Unless you resurrect the Second, who in this village can leash Shimura Danzo?
Hiashi's cannibal glare? Danzo didn't flinch. Wasn't raised soft.
Other elders fists white-knuckle, lips zipped. Bones weren't jelly like Grandpappy's, but nobody signed up for a free Root beatdown. Swallowed the rage like cheap whiskey—burned goin' down.
Eyes blazed though. Bill's due. Post-crisis, Danzo's payin' with interest.
Hyuga pride? Non-fuckin'-negotiable.
"Can we talk business now?" Danzo monotone, already hobblin' to the chair like he owned the deed.
Talk turned to damage control.
Danzo never said Byakugan once. Every sentence steered straight into it.
Hiashi and the elders? Welded to the line. Touch the eyes? Square up. Fists itchin'.
Danzo's one eye went bloodshot.
Stubborn fossils. Root's got bloodline ninjas too—none of their clans threw this tantrum.
He backpedaled: "Fine, no eyes. Send your prodigies to train in Root."
Shot down faster than a clay pigeon.
Even Danzo's silver tongue couldn't out-talk the mob. Internal groan:
If only Root had a freak like Makoto Uchiha.
Stalemate. Screamin' match.
Rest of Hyuga compound? Dead silent. Could hear a pin drop. Grand Elder dragged out like roadkill by branch-family grunts, blood trailin' on the slate like abstract art.
Noon hit. Danzo still hammerin' "For the Leaf!" on repeat—stole Hiruzen's Will of Fire mixtape, ears bleedin'. Hyuga stonewallin' the eye issue.
Time's up? Danzo didn't care. Kept squeezin' for Root perks. Sent the torture transcript to the Tower.
Fingered cane grooves, self-brainwash loop on blast: I am the Root. Silent guardian. Full believer.
---
Noon sharp. Hokage office door BAM.
Burlap Bae strode in, legs for days, waist snappin' under the crop top, abs carved like marble.
"Third. Cloud wants answers. Now."
Skin gleamin' obsidian, eyes sharper than her hip dagger. Here to start shit: Round 2.
Hiruzen just finished Danzo's fairy-tale transcript—head throbbin'.
But Root's relay? Cloud boss did die on Hyuga soil. Body cold hours ago.
Burlap barged, Hiruzen tapped ash: "Hyuga fucked up. Konoha will—"
Burlap cut the fluff: "Raikage's terms: Killer's head or—"
Pause. Eyes iced: "War."
Hiruzen sighed like a deflatin' balloon, pipe spinnin'. Hagglin' commenced.
Cloud didn't want war—post-Third War casualties still stingin'. Just wanted max loot via "talks." No loot? Then war.
Sun got yanked behind clouds. Konoha sky went moody.
Night fell. Snowflakes tapped windows, then dumped in clumps—roofs, trees, everything buried white. Air stiff, heavy, pissed.
Hyuga-Tower talks? Dragged from lunch to midnight. Still goin'.
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