Dusk crashed down on Konoha like a lead brick.
The "Number One Ninja Village" crown still hung high, but inside? That "untouchable superpower" glow was long gone—faded like a washed-out tattoo.
Sand, Mist, Rock, and Cloud were circling like sharks, their stares carving chunks off Konoha's old rep. The kinda dominance that used to shut the whole ninja world up? Poof. Smoke.
Cloud Village was the loudest, flexing their muscle and this diplomatic "W" like a roided-up bully. They were pushing, fangs out, zero chill about yanking Konoha off the throne.
Anybody with eyes could see: if the Konoha F4 kept bickering like a bad reality show—strong at home, weak abroad—without some game-changer…
A new Hashirama-level "God of Shinobi" sweeping the board, or a Madara-style "Shura" that makes you wanna curl up and cry…
Cloud surpassing Konoha wholesale? Just a matter of when.
Inside the village, the ancient bloodline clans watched the Third Hokage, Sarutobi Hiruzen, fumble the Makoto kidnapping and Cloud's extortion racket.
Their reaction? Not rage. Not riots. Just a bone-chilling, dead-calm silence.
This wasn't agreement. This was disappointment frozen solid.
Clan heads barricaded their compounds, tension thick as pre-storm air. Or they sat in high-level meetings, faces like stone, eyes sharp enough to cut glass.
Hiruzen's cred with the real power brokers? Crashing faster than a crypto scam.
Nobody smart enough to run a clan is dumb. The elders' slimy math—"keep Uchiha blood in-house but don't dare war with Cloud"—was obvious as a neon sign.
No big rescue op? Translation: Let Makoto "disappear" in Cloud. Permanently.
Konoha right now was a volcano on mute—magma churning under the crust, building pressure that could glass the whole damn place. Just waiting for the spark.
Hyuga Compound.
Hyuga Hiashi stood alone on the veranda in plain white robes, sunset stretching his shadow like taffy. But it couldn't chase the gloom from his eyes.
Biggest losers in this mess? Hyuga clan. Branch-family blood soaked the Land of Hot Water's dirt.
And that snake Danzo? Still using the Cloud leader's death as a club to beat them bloody.
Hiashi's gaze cut through the old rooftops, landing on the distant Hokage Rock.
The Third's stone face blurred in the twilight. Hiashi's Byakugan depths churned with a mess of feelings.
Fury at Hiruzen green-lighting Danzo's harassment. Gut-deep disgust at the elders' incompetence. And that cold, bunny-boils-when-fox-dies chill—we're next.
He never thought Cloud would straight-up rob a core clan's bloodline like some ghetto stick-up. Disgusting.
And the Hokage? Hiruzen's big "Hot Water Op" was all fireworks and no boom—plugged the hole with Hyuga branch lives, then… crickets.
The "Will of Fire" everyone raved about—protection, sacrifice—looked pathetic next to coward appeasement and cold calculus.
Hiashi shook his head, slow and heavy.
That tiny motion? Total write-off of the Third.
He pulled his eyes from the Rock, staring toward the Uchiha compound. Lingered. Deep thoughts brewing.
Finally, he turned to the courtyard depths.
In the corner shadows, Hinata hugged the scarf Makoto gave her that night—like it was her teddy bear.
Every day, same spot, same time. Tiny body curled up, pure-white eyes locked on the clan gate. Unblinking. Stubborn.
Those crystal-clear eyes overflowed with kid-pure hope—like any second, that black-haired, black-eyed half-grown teen would stroll through with his usual grin.
Watching his daughter's innocent profile, Hiashi sucked in a chilly evening breath and made a "necessary" call.
The truth—that Makoto was never coming back? Couldn't tell Hinata.
He couldn't handle her heart shattering.
Let this hopeless wait fade with time, dull the edges in her little soul… even if the thought itself stabbed like a dull knife.
Sun dipped fully. Last light swallowed by thick dusk. Konoha sank into murky shadow.
Under the fake-calm night, silent cracks spider-webbed like crazy—tearing the "peace" facade to shreds.
…
These past days dragged for Uchiha Itachi like decades.
He perched on a rooftop at the clan's edge, cold gaze slicing the night, locked on the Hokage Building.
Lights blazed, but zero real rescue plans for Makoto. The signal he waited for? Never lit.
The teen's pretty face was blank—only those pitch-black eyes swirling with way-too-old complexity and weight.
Hiruzen's inaction looped Makoto's half-joking, dead-serious words in his head like a cursed track:
"Itachi, remember—if I ever 'suicide' or 'go missing,' Konoha won't lift a finger. Guaranteed they're in on it."
Flash of Danzo's creepy silhouette days ago. Itachi's eyes flashed complicated. Then Makoto's guiding whisper:
"Wanna test how pure the Third's Will of Fire really is? Sneak over to the Sarutobi compound when you can. Answer's there."
Itachi never let himself go there before. But now? Watching the elders ice out his little brother's kidnapping?
The agony cracked him open. He had to think it.
Once distrust takes root, it drinks reality like fertilizer—sprouts wild.
They'd tried propping Orochimaru for Fifth Hokage not long ago.
Itachi never trusted the snake, but Makoto vouched using "the Third's spotless rep" as collateral.
Then Orochimaru bounced. Itachi had questions about Hiruzen then, but buried 'em—oversight? Or enablement?
Plus, Makoto dropped a later gut-punch: through his digging, the Third knew about Orochimaru's forbidden experiments all along.
Konoha's darkness ran deeper than the shadows under the sun.
Two bombs—boom, boom—shattered the pristine "Third Hokage" statue in Itachi's heart.
Cracks raced. Shards fell. Faith in the elders, in the pure Will of Fire? Shaking harder than ever.
The teen stood in the night wind forever. Then he moved—like a leaf on the breeze.
Silent into the dark. To find Shisui. Then hit the Sarutobi compound for Makoto's so-called "truth."