The Hokage's office was thick as tar, sunset slicing through the window only to get shredded by the haze of smoke, flopping dead on a desk buried in scrolls.
Hiruzen Sarutobi's bony fingers hovered over the name "Uchiha Makoto" like it was radioactive.
Fresh tobacco crackled in the pipe, sucking sparks greedily, puking out more choking gray clouds.
The intel from Fugaku was short and brutal: "Uchiha Makoto left home days ago, never came back. No trace in the whole damn village. Suspected snatched by Kumogakure."
"Snatched!"
The word hit like a branding iron to the temple. Blood pressure roared through old veins; he sucked the pipe hard to keep from keeling over.
A pure-blood Uchiha—a boy—in the hands of Kumo's greedy psychos.
Meaning? Those animals would force-breed the kid for Sharingan babies. Give it a few years, and Kumo's got a whole platoon of Uchiha-blooded ninjas ready to storm Konoha.
Worse? Fugaku's report was too damn short. Like the guy didn't give a shit about his own flesh and blood. Something stank.
The suicide-run chaos Kumo pulled nights ago suddenly made sense: blow up half the village, expose a dozen spies, all to cover an extraction.
Target wasn't the Nine-Tails jinchuriki. It was Uchiha blood. Hiruzen never saw it coming.
THUNK!
Pipe slammed the desk; embers jumped, landing dead-center on the blank part of the report.
Before the sparks died, an ANBU dropped to one knee in the middle of the room—silent as a ghost.
"Get Danzo in here now!" Hiruzen's voice was smoke-soaked driftwood—heavy, rotten. "Tell him to move his ass!"
More smoke leaked from his fingers and lips, blurring the old man's cratered face. Behind the haze, his eyes were murky storm clouds—rage locked down, just bone-deep exhaustion left.
Danzo hadn't even shown when the door got pounded.
"Come in."
Uchiha Itachi crashed through like the building was on fire. The calm "mask" he wore every day? Shattered. Sweat plastered his bangs; those "I-see-all" eyes were wide, panicked, breaking.
Hiruzen's pipe paused at his lips. He clocked Itachi's mess, slowed his voice to that grandpa tone: "Itachi, what's wrong? Need my help?"
To a drowning Itachi, that voice was a damn life raft. The tension in his skull snapped loose.
If the Hokage helps… Makoto might still have a shot.
On the way here, he'd pieced it together: the night Makoto vanished was the same night Kumo flipped the village. Searched every alley, every rooftop—nothing. Kid was taken.
"Hokage-sama!" Itachi's voice cracked. "My brother… Makoto… Kumo took him."
"Please… save him."
Hiruzen's eyes slid back to Fugaku's report. Pipe glow flickered.
He kept his voice steady, soothing: "Itachi, I already know."
Paused, choosing words: "If it's true, Konoha won't sit on its hands. We'll use every resource to—"
Door slammed open again. Danzo stormed in, black robe flapping, no knock, no manners.
Hiruzen waved Itachi off: "Go home. If Makoto's really in Kumo, we're not letting it slide. Trust me."
Itachi's lips moved—he wanted to beg more—but Danzo's cold one-eyed glare and Hiruzen looking away choked the words. He swallowed fire, shot Danzo a death stare, and left.
Footsteps faded. The room turned to a pressure cooker.
Hiruzen didn't speak—just sucked that pipe till the bowl glowed hot again.
He slid the feather-light, thousand-pound report across the desk toward Danzo.
Danzo snatched it, hawk-eye scanning the few lines. His already sour face went black.
He was this close to recruiting Makoto for Root. Now the kid's gone?
Danzo's voice was pure venom: "Hiruzen! We know Kumo took him—why the hell aren't we rolling tanks to drag him back?!"
"You think Kumo can just rob us blind? They started this—we finish it!"
He stepped closer, eye glinting like a blade: "Hyuga clan's perfect—make 'em atone. Frontline meat shields. They're scared shitless right now; they'll charge like rabid dogs."
"Fly the flag: 'Rescue Uchiha Makoto!' Tie those evil Uchiha to the war chariot too—let them bleed first!"
Voice dropped to a hiss: "Hit Kumo and gut both clans in one swing. Win-win."
"ENOUGH!" Hiruzen slammed the pipe—BOOM. "Don't say shit that breaks village unity!"
Weakening Hyuga and Uchiha was the silent high-level plan, sure. But you don't say it out loud.
Hiruzen squinted, tapping ash: "Konoha can't survive another war."
"So we just bend over? Watch Kumo breed a litter of Sharingan and come knockin'?"
Danzo's laugh was a razor: pure contempt for Hiruzen's "weakness." Inside, he seethed: You're done, old man.
Hiruzen's face flickered in the pipe smoke. Silence. Weighing. Brewing.
Finally: "Makoto's young. Breeding takes years. We've got time to extract him."
"Danzo, I know Root's got spies deep in Kumo. Time to earn your black budget."
He sucked deep, eyes locking through the haze: "No cost too high. Bring. Him. Back." The last words crawled out slow.
Danzo's exposed pupil shrank. Got it.
"Bring back" = best case. But if the price is insane or shit "happens" on the way… liquidating Makoto was also on the table.
Core rule: No live, breeding Uchiha in Kumo hands. Ever.
Hiruzen just dumped the dirtiest job on Root—and the fall if it blew up.
Danzo was supposed to push back. Instead, he nodded: "Fine."
Rescuing Makoto from Kumo would cost Root a fortune in assets. But payoff? Huge.
Sneak the kid out, don't return him to the Uchiha—deliver straight to Root.
Future Root legions with Sharingan? Hell yeah.
Hiruzen's brow twitched. Too easy. Not like his old "friend." He leaned in, warning thick: "All-out effort. No half-measures."
"I know how to run my damn ops, Hiruzen. Don't need your lecture."
Hiruzen choked on the comeback, voice hot: "You'll regret this!"
"Regret?" Danzo spun at the door, booming: "I'M THE GODDAMN LEADER OF ROOT!"
SLAM!
Door rattled in the frame.
Hiruzen stared at the empty space. Something felt… off about that whole exchange.
Danzo strutted down the hall, steps lighter. Thanks to that blowout six months back, the old bastard's mouth was sharper than ever.