The parliament building gleamed in the afternoon light.
Key had accepted the invitation to address the legislative assembly with the understanding that visibility served his purposes as much as theirs. The representatives wished to honor the shinobi whose reforms had transformed their nation; Key wished to demonstrate that the military strength protecting Fire Country remained committed to the civilian governance it had helped create.
The chamber itself was an architectural achievement—vaulted ceilings that spoke of ambitions larger than any single ruler, galleries where citizens could observe their representatives in session, windows that admitted light from every direction. Three hundred and forty-seven delegates occupied the central floor, their seats arranged in semicircular tiers that focused attention on the speaking platform where Key now stood.
"The integration of shinobi capabilities with civilian development represents a new model for national prosperity," Key was saying, his voice carrying easily through the chamber's excellent acoustics. "What we have achieved in three years—the roads, the irrigation systems, the housing developments—demonstrates that military strength need not exist in opposition to civilian welfare."
The representatives listened with attention that their shadows confirmed as genuine. These were people who had witnessed transformation that their predecessors could not have imagined—a nation that had moved from feudal stagnation to representative governance within a single generation. Their investment in the process was personal, their commitment to its continuation authentic.
Key's Rinnegan, concealed behind genjutsu that made his eyes appear unremarkable, perceived the threat seventeen seconds before it manifested.
The attackers phased through the chamber's walls simultaneously—a coordinated breach that bypassed every defensive barrier the building possessed. Seventeen figures in Iwagakure uniforms, their chakra signatures masked by techniques that would have defeated conventional detection. And behind them, two others whose presence made Key's enhanced perception recoil with recognition.
Akatsuki. The red clouds unmistakable even as their wearers moved with speed that should have been impossible. And their chakra—wrong, fundamentally wrong, sustained by mechanisms that suggested bodies which should no longer be moving.
Reanimated, Key understood in the fraction of a second before chaos erupted. The undead technique. They've sent immortal operatives to ensure the kill.
The lead Iwagakure jounin raised his hand, earth techniques already forming that would have collapsed the chamber's ceiling onto the assembled representatives. Three hundred and forty-seven civilians, crushed beneath tons of stone while the world watched. A message that could not be misinterpreted.
Key moved.
His displacement crossed the chamber in the space between heartbeats, spatial compression treating the distance as negligible rather than traversed. His shadow extended not toward the attackers but toward the ceiling itself—tendrils of darkness that reinforced the stone against techniques designed to shatter it, preventing the collapse before it could begin.
"PROTECT THE REPRESENTATIVES!" he commanded, his voice carrying through the chamber with authority that his network recognized instantly. Connected nodes throughout the building responded—Root operatives who had accompanied him, former students who served as parliamentary guards, allies positioned precisely because moments like this were always possible.
The civilians began evacuation while Key faced the assassination force alone.
"Nara Key," the lead Iwagakure jounin said, his voice carrying contempt that decades of Stone-Leaf rivalry had distilled. "The Tsuchikage sends his regards."
"The Tsuchikage sends seventeen of his elite to die in front of witnesses who will document every moment." Key's response was equally cold. "I would have preferred he sent diplomats."
The attack came from every direction simultaneously.
Earth techniques erupted from beneath the chamber floor, seeking to trap or impale. Fire techniques descended from attackers who had positioned themselves in the upper galleries. Lightning arced between jounin whose coordination suggested years of combined training. The formation was designed for exactly this scenario—overwhelming force applied from multiple vectors against a single target, regardless of that target's individual capability.
Against most targets, even most Kage-level targets, the assault would have proven devastating.
Key's response exceeded anything the attackers had anticipated.
His sage mode activated without visible preparation, natural energy flooding his system from reserves he maintained constantly. His Wood Release erupted through the chamber floor—not attacking the jounin directly, but forming barriers that protected the fleeing representatives from techniques that might otherwise have caught them in crossfire. His ice crystallized in patterns that redirected fire techniques away from civilian areas, transmuting destructive force into harmless steam.
And his shadows moved with speed that transcended normal perception.
Twelve of the Iwagakure jounin fell in the first exchange. Key's shadow tendrils did not merely bind—they infiltrated chakra systems with precision that his Rinnegan made possible, disrupting the flows that sustained consciousness without causing damage that would prove fatal. These were enemy combatants, yes, but they were also shinobi following orders from leaders who bore greater responsibility for this attack.
The remaining five attempted to regroup, their formation collapsing as they recognized that individual survival had become their primary concern.
Key did not permit regrouping.
His displacement carried him through their scattered positions like wind through leaves, each appearance accompanied by shadow techniques that left another jounin crumpling to the marble floor. The chamber echoed with the sounds of bodies falling, of techniques dissipating incomplete, of an assassination force being systematically dismantled by a single defender.
Twenty-three seconds. Fifteen of seventeen eliminated.
The two Akatsuki members had not yet engaged.
They stood near the chamber's main entrance, observing the destruction of their Iwagakure allies with expressions that suggested neither surprise nor concern. Their bodies—Key's Rinnegan confirmed what his earlier analysis had suggested—were reanimated constructs, sustained by seals that drew power from sources beyond the physical world.
"Impressive," one of them said, his voice carrying the peculiar resonance of a throat that no longer required breath. "We were informed you had become powerful. We were not informed you had become this."
"You were informed what your employers believed. Their beliefs were insufficient."
"Perhaps." The reanimated shinobi's smile held no warmth, merely the mechanical approximation of expression. "But we are not so easily defeated as living opponents. Our bodies restore any damage. Our techniques draw from reserves that do not deplete. We are, in the most literal sense, unkillable."
"Everything can be killed. The question is merely how."
Key attacked.
The battle that followed transformed the parliament chamber into a arena of forces that the building's architects had never anticipated. The undead duo fought with coordination perfected across decades of partnership, their techniques complementing each other with precision that living shinobi could rarely achieve. Their regeneration was exactly as described—damage that would have proven fatal restored within seconds, bodies that reformed regardless of how thoroughly they were destroyed.
But Key's perception revealed what their confidence had obscured.
The reanimation technique was not truly resurrection. It was binding—souls constrained within reconstructed bodies, forced to fight regardless of their own wishes. The seals that maintained this binding were complex but not impenetrable. They required continuous chakra flow from external sources, channels that connected the animated corpses to whoever had performed the summoning.
Key's shadows did not merely attack the physical forms before him. They infiltrated the mechanisms that made those forms possible.
The first of the duo fell when shadow tendrils found the seal matrix buried within his reconstructed chakra system, disrupting the flows that his continued animation required. The body collapsed mid-technique, the soul within suddenly freed from constraints that had bound it since resurrection. For just a moment, Key perceived the spirit's relief—gratitude at release from servitude that death should have ended.
The second fought on with desperation that his previous confidence had not suggested. His techniques became wilder, less coordinated, as he recognized that his partner's fate awaited him. But desperation could not overcome the fundamental asymmetry between them.
Key's Wood Release formed constructs that the reanimated shinobi could not penetrate—barriers infused with the vital energy that was antithetical to the death-sustained animation. His ice imprisoned the reforming body in cold so profound that even chakra-maintained flesh could not function. And his shadows found the second seal matrix, severing the connection with the same surgical precision that had freed the first.
The second body fell.
Five minutes. Twenty-two seconds.
The parliament chamber fell silent.
Three hundred and forty-seven representatives had witnessed what followed.
They had seen their protector face an assassination force designed to overwhelm any single defender. They had seen seventeen elite jounin fall in seconds. They had seen immortal operatives—beings that should have been unkillable—destroyed through techniques that transcended normal understanding.
And they had seen it all while remaining completely unharmed.
Not a single civilian casualty. Not a single representative touched by the violence that had erupted around them. Key's defense had been absolute—protecting those under his care while eliminating threats with efficiency that defied description.
The chamber erupted into chaos of a different kind as the implications settled into minds that struggled to process what they had witnessed.
Key stood at the center of the destruction, his breathing controlled despite the exertion, his expression composed despite the violence that had just concluded. Around him, the fallen Iwagakure jounin were being secured by operatives who had emerged from concealment once the battle ended. The reanimated corpses had dissolved into dust, the technique that sustained them unraveling once the souls within had been released.
"Lord Key." The Speaker of Parliament approached with the careful steps of someone whose understanding of the world had just been fundamentally revised. "Are you… are you injured?"
"I am unharmed. As are all representatives present." Key's voice carried across the silent chamber. "This attack was meant to demonstrate that Fire Country's new governance could not protect itself. It has instead demonstrated the opposite."
"What… what happens now?"
"Now, we document what occurred. We identify who ordered this attack and why. And we ensure that those responsible understand the consequences of threatening what we have built."
The words carried weight that transcended their simple meaning. Every representative in the chamber understood what they had witnessed—not merely a battle, but a statement. The shinobi who protected their nation possessed capabilities that no enemy could match. The governance they had created was defended by power that no aggression could overcome.
The parliament of Fire Country would not be intimidated.
The aftermath reverberated through the shinobi world with the force of earthquake through unstable ground.
Every representative who had witnessed the battle became a source of testimony that could not be dismissed as propaganda. Their accounts spread through diplomatic channels, through merchant networks, through the countless informal connections that transmitted information faster than any official communication. Within days, every hidden village knew what had occurred in the parliament chamber.
The response from Iwagakure was immediate and dramatic.
The Tsuchikage's border forces withdrew to defensive positions within hours of the news reaching Stone. The aggressive posturing that had characterized their stance since the daimyo's assassination vanished, replaced by communications that approached apology without quite achieving it. Their seventeen jounin had been among the village's elite—their elimination in under five minutes by a single defender suggested capabilities that no strategic calculation could account for.
He's stronger than any Kage in history, intercepted communications revealed. Our analysts believe he could challenge our entire military force single-handedly and potentially prevail. All previous strategic assumptions must be revised.
Kumogakure's Raikage discovered an immediate interest in diplomatic solutions that his aggressive nature had previously rejected. The border incursions that had tested Konoha's defenses for years quietly ceased. Trade negotiations replaced military posturing as the preferred mechanism for pursuing national interests.
Kirigakure's new Mizukage—Terumi Mei, whose reform faction had recently consolidated control over the Bloody Mist—sent formal communications expressing interest in cooperation that her predecessors would never have considered. The woman whose ascension Key's network had quietly supported proved eager to establish relationships with the power that had demonstrated such overwhelming capability.
The Five Shadows began to behave with deference they had never previously shown toward any external force.
"You have terrified them," Sarutobi observed during their post-incident briefing, his voice carrying neither approval nor criticism—merely observation. "Every Kage in the shinobi world now calculates their decisions against the possibility of your intervention. That is power of a different order than we have previously discussed."
"Power deployed in defense of governance that serves its population rather than exploiting it." Key met the Hokage's eyes without flinching. "The attack was meant to destroy the parliamentary system by demonstrating its vulnerability. Instead, it has demonstrated that the system enjoys protection no aggressor can overcome."
"And the representatives who witnessed your display? They will speak of what they saw for the rest of their lives. They will tell their children, their constituents, their colleagues in other nations. The story will grow with each retelling until you become something more than human in popular imagination."
"Stories serve purposes. If the story of my capabilities prevents future attacks, then the exaggeration produces beneficial outcomes."
"And if it inspires fear rather than respect? If the populations you wish to protect begin to see you as threat rather than guardian?"
The question struck at concerns Key had been wrestling with since his Rinnegan first began to evolve. Power at his level created distance that no intention could fully bridge. Those he protected might come to fear the protector as much as any external enemy.
"I can only act according to my principles and trust that consistent behavior will eventually establish trust," Key replied. "If I use my capabilities only in defense—only to protect rather than to impose—then over time, the pattern will speak for itself."
"Perhaps. We shall see whether time validates your faith."
The Uchiha integration accelerated dramatically in the attack's aftermath.
The clan that had once been suspected of orchestrating the Nine-Tails attack now found itself embraced by a village that no longer needed scapegoats for its insecurities. The parliament's representatives—those who had witnessed Key's defense firsthand—returned to their communities with stories that explicitly included Uchiha shinobi among those who had helped evacuate civilians during the battle.
The narrative shift was immediate and profound.
Fugaku reported the transformation during their regular coordination meetings, his expression carrying satisfaction that his usual stern demeanor could not entirely conceal.
"My children walk the streets without hostility," the clan head observed. "Merchants who once refused our custom now seek it. The whispers have stopped. The isolation has ended."
"The village recognizes that suspicion was always unjust. The attack's aftermath merely accelerated a recognition that was already developing."
"Perhaps. But the timing of full acceptance is not coincidental." Fugaku's dark eyes met Key's with understanding that required no elaboration. "When the representatives tell their stories, they speak of Uchiha who helped protect them. They speak of my clan as part of what you defended, not as threats you merely tolerated."
"Your clan was always part of Konoha. The failure was in those who forgot that truth."
"Generous interpretation. But appreciated nonetheless." Fugaku paused, something shifting in his expression. "Itachi observed the battle's aftermath. He arrived with the response teams and saw what remained of the attackers. He has not spoken of it since, but I perceive… understanding in him that was not present before."
"Understanding of what?"
"Of what true protection requires. Of the weight that capability carries." Fugaku's voice dropped lower. "He will graduate within months. His capabilities already exceed most chunin. When the time comes, he will seek service under your direct command."
"And what does his father wish?"
"His father wishes him to become whatever he is meant to become." The admission carried weight that years of clan pressure had made difficult to voice. "Your philosophy has taught many of us that shaping children according to our expectations produces tools rather than people. Itachi is no one's tool."
"No. He is not."
The promise of future connection was implicit, and Fugaku recognized it as such. His departure left Key to contemplate implications that extended far beyond any single student's trajectory.
The massacre will never happen, Key thought, certainty settling into understanding that years of effort had earned. The conditions that would have made it necessary no longer exist. Itachi will become something other than kinslayer—something better, something that the world he actually inhabits makes possible.
Another year passed in the rhythm of consolidation and careful cultivation.
Key's primary occupation became what he privately termed "weeding"—the systematic elimination of obstacles that impeded the progress his reforms had begun to generate.
Corruption networks that had thrived beneath the previous administration's awareness found themselves exposed through perception that missed nothing. His Rinnegan revealed flows of illicit wealth with clarity that made concealment impossible. His shadow network extended into every institution where parasites had established themselves, identifying the mechanisms by which public resources were diverted to private benefit.
The eliminations were methodical rather than dramatic.
Key did not announce crusades against corruption. He did not make examples of those he removed. He simply… addressed problems, quietly and efficiently, allowing the systems he had helped create to function without the friction that exploitation had previously imposed.
The results accumulated in statistics that the parliamentary bureaucracy compiled without understanding their underlying causes.
Tax revenues increased as collections that had previously disappeared into corrupt pockets now reached the treasury. Public projects completed ahead of schedule as contractors who had padded timelines for additional extraction found such practices suddenly unprofitable. Service delivery improved as officials discovered that their positions depended on performance rather than the bribes they extracted.
The population felt the difference in their daily lives.
Markets offered goods at prices reflecting actual value rather than artificial scarcity created by those who controlled supply. Roads that had been perpetually under repair finally achieved completion. The petty corruptions that had characterized daily interaction—officials demanding payment for obligated services, inspectors whose assessments depended on unauthorized contributions—gradually disappeared.
Efficiency of a system means better living conditions, Key observed, monitoring improvements through networks spanning the nation. A more just system creates happier people. Not through ideology, but through the mechanism of structures functioning as they should.
The transformation was incomplete—would always be incomplete while human nature contained capacity for selfishness. But progress exceeded Key's most optimistic projections.
Fire Country was becoming a nation where systems served populations rather than exploiting them. Where governance derived from consent rather than inheritance. Where military strength protected civilian welfare rather than threatening it.
And the shinobi world watched, calculated, considered whether similar transformations might prove possible in their own territories.
The evening found Key standing on the First Hokage's carved face, his concealed Rinnegan perceiving the village below with clarity that no other observation could match.
Konoha had transformed more in five years than in the previous five decades. Buildings constructed by shinobi labor rose where the Nine-Tails' destruction had left ruins. Infrastructure connected communities previously isolated by inadequate transportation. The population moved with energy that prosperity provided—purposeful motion of those who believed their efforts would produce results worth achieving.
His five-tomoe Rinnegan continued its evolution behind the genjutsu that concealed it—ripples growing more complete with each passing month, capabilities expanding beyond what he had previously achieved. The eyes approached their final form, and Key suspected that completion would bring abilities that even his current perception could not fully anticipate.
The threats remain, he acknowledged, scanning horizons that his enhanced vision made transparent. The masked man is still somewhere beyond my perception. Danzo still plots from diminished position. External enemies still calculate whether aggression might prove profitable despite the deterrence my capabilities provide.
But the foundation is established. The systems function. The network grows stronger. Each passing day strengthens what I have built while weakening those who would tear it down.
His shadow stretched long in the fading light, connecting him to hundreds of nodes throughout the village and beyond—students he had taught, operatives whose humanity he had restored, allies whose shared philosophy created bonds stronger than formal alliance.
The weeding was nearly complete. The garden was beginning to flourish.
And the harvest that he had planted seeds for, so many years ago, was finally approaching.
Key allowed himself a rare moment of something approaching satisfaction. Not contentment—there was too much work remaining for contentment. But recognition that progress had been achieved. That the world was better than it had been. That the effort had produced results worth the cost of achieving them.
Whatever came next, he would be ready.
He had made himself ready.
And nothing in this world—or any world—would find him wanting when the moment of truth finally arrived.
End of Chapter Twenty-Seven