In any world, the transfer of power is never truly smooth.
Especially when the previous Hokage is still alive and kicking.
This was different from the time of the First and Second. The First Hokage, Senju Hashirama, had from the very beginning been the village's military guarantee and its mascot; all the concrete administrative affairs and policy-making of Konohagakure had been handled by his younger brother, Tobirama.
After Hashirama's death, the Second naturally took over the position of Hokage. There was no issue of power transition, because all administrative authority had already been in his hands.
You ask what authority Hashirama had? His fists were authority—if you did not obey, he would warn you with Sage Art: Wood Release: True Several Thousand Hands.
But now it was different. Even if the Third, Hiruzen, had no intention of clinging to power, the interest groups that had relied on him for decades had already solidified. They would push him step by step in directions he did not wish to go.
Unless he could steel his heart completely and decisively remove certain leftover figures from the center of power, allowing the younger generation gathered around Namikaze Minato to rise to prominence within a short period of time.
That would certainly bring temporary confusion and turmoil, but it would be the best method.
If one hesitates when a decision must be made, one will instead suffer from the resulting chaos.
Unfortunately, the best method is almost always the choice humans ultimately never make.
Therefore, Makoto felt that the old Hokage should either withdraw as soon as possible, or simply stop involving himself in anything and spend his days drinking tea and playing chess with his three old classmates.
As long as he still held some position such as Hokage Advisor, the inertia of his former influence would naturally cause him to share in the Hokage's authority.
A shinobi village, this kind of purely militarized organization, could not operate under a system with two decision-makers.
Rasa selling out Pakura was not stupidity; supreme authority instinctively detests division.
...
The next morning, after breakfast, Makoto's entire family put on black clothing and headed to the cemetery.
Along the way, there were many others dressed the same as them—ninjas, and influential ones within the village at that.
Today was the first public event held after the Fourth Hokage, Namikaze Minato, took office—a collective funeral for the ninjas who had died in this war, leading the shinobi of Konohagakure to send these fallen heroes on their final journey.
The war had lasted several years. The ninjas who had died earlier had long since been buried; it was impossible to keep the bodies indefinitely. Today was merely a symbolic burial of some of the ninjas who had fallen in the decisive battle on the northern front.
In the cemetery, as the coffin was lowered into the grave pit, Minato grabbed a handful of soil and scattered it down. Then, together with the others, he swung a shovel and heaped earth over the coffin, finally covering it completely, after which staff placed the tombstone that had already been prepared.
No matter what this person's name had been in life, what abilities he had possessed, or what ideals he had held, everything dissipated like smoke the moment he died.
Once the yellow earth covered him and he was buried deep underground, all the disputes of the human world had nothing to do with him anymore.
This was the law of an ordinary world.
Unfortunately, this was the shinobi world—where even after death, you could be dragged back to work again.
The jutsu Impure World Reincarnation was, to some extent, somewhat immoral.
The newly appointed Fourth personally took part in the burial of four comrades in total. The selection was quite representative: one ninja from the Uchiha clan, one ninja from a branch house of the Hyūga clan, one civilian ninja without a surname, and the last one was his classmate.
Afterward, in a solemn tone, he recited a traditional eulogy of the Land of Fire and led everyone in a moment of silence. Only then was the entire process concluded.
It was not complicated. Everything about shinobi emphasized efficiency; there were none of the aristocrats' drawn-out rituals that could last for several days.
Many people from the major clans and among the civilian ninjas came to attend the funeral.
Some brought their younger generation along, hoping that this moment of honor would impart to them a measure of solemn meaning and make them understand the weight of life.
For example, Uchiha Itachi stood by his father's side, listening to his father speak about the responsibility of shinobi—especially Uchiha shinobi—toward peace.
After the funeral ended, the crowd began to disperse.
Higashino Jirō patted his son on the shoulder. "Let's go, Makoto. We can head back."
"You go on ahead. I'll return by myself in a little while."
The couple did not object. After offering a few reminders, they left. Having gone through war, they no longer regarded their son as an ordinary child.
Their son, Higashino Makoto, was a chūnin of Konohagakure, powerful and distinguished in military merit—the greatest pride of their lives.
Itachi did not return home with his father either. He remained in the cemetery, quietly reflecting. Suddenly, among the distant rows of graves, he noticed a tall, slender figure standing there.
Sunlight could not penetrate the half-draped long hair; the pale face was hidden in shadow. The interplay of light and shade was bleak, exceptionally solitary.
Curiosity drove him to run toward the other party.
At this time, Orochimaru had not yet become obsessively infatuated with the Sharingan. He glanced at the Uchiha child approaching him and spoke softly, "Lamenting the dead has no meaning. If death has meaning, it exists only when it can be utilized."
The overly personal and stylized judgment was beyond the understanding of the young Itachi. He merely felt that the person before him seemed to possess his own unique view of the world.
Itachi had no interest whatsoever in children's play, yet he alone was obsessed with pursuing those elusive questions of existence.
He asked, "What is the meaning of life?"
"It has no meaning. If it does, it exists only when life becomes eternal. Don't you think so, Makoto-kun?"
Itachi was stunned for a moment, then turned his head and said in surprise, "Makoto-senpai."
"It's Itachi." Makoto responded, then looked at a certain someone spreading improper ideas and said, "Orochimaru-sama, please refrain from instilling the idea that life is meaningless into a child who has only just begun exploring the world. It is not healthy."
When Orochimaru saw him, he instinctively ran his tongue across his face. "Oh? Makoto-kun, aren't you also a child? Could it be that you already understand the meaning of life?"
"Life has no meaning. Life itself is meaning."
"Hehe, an interesting view. But human life is too fragile and too short. Once one dies, there is no meaning left. So, do you still think there is something wrong with what I said?"
"Humans pursue tranquility, glory, peace, power, and even the eternity you speak of. These are themselves part of the meaning of life's existence. Each person's life has a different meaning to himself."
"Most importantly, Orochimaru-sama, I regret to inform you that eternity does not exist in this world. All tangible things will one day fall into extinction."
"Hehe." Orochimaru let out a soft laugh. "Yes, you are not wrong. But at least, I want to see that day arrive. For me, that is already eternity."
After saying that, he left, continuing to pursue his own dream.
The position of Hokage? Important, yet not important.
Like a dog chasing cotton drifting in the wind—it cannot tolerate being snatched by another dog. But if it truly catches it in its mouth, it may quickly lose interest.
What he cared about was not the position of Hokage, but the fact that he had been abandoned by his teacher. It reminded him of the parents, friends, and disciples who had abandoned him and gone to the Pure Land.
Orochimaru's gaze had already gone beyond the scope of shinobi and begun to pursue transcendence of life.
There was nothing wrong with that. Immortality had been a dream engraved in humanity's genes since its birth.
If, in the process, he had not lost his humanity, grown indifferent to life, and casually trampled the innocent, then in itself there would not have been much stain.
As for killing? Which shinobi's hands were not stained with blood? Makoto was only ten years old and had already lost count of how many people he had cut down. But no matter what, respecting life and not laying hands on the innocent were the basic bottom line of his life.
Itachi looked at the departing figure in the distance and asked, "Makoto-senpai, is that Orochimaru-sama?"
"Yes. Forget what he said. The fact that we are alive, that you and I met, and that we seek together the answers to the questions we care about—this process itself is where the meaning of life lies."
"Mm, you're right, Makoto-senpai."
"Itachi, our growth is like pouring water into an empty cup. Our understanding determines what color we dye that clear water."
"Your color must be dyed by yourself through diligent study. You cannot let others contaminate it—that would not be your own color. Do you understand?"
"I understand, senpai. What you said is very vivid."
"Good. In the future, stay away from those strange uncles. They like nothing more than dyeing people who are still growing."
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