Danzo raised his head, his gaze cold as it swept across the people present before finally settling on the Third Hokage. His tone was hard and unyielding: "The analysis does have some merit, but anyone with a bit of intelligence can see the current state of the shinobi world. What's there to make such a fuss about? And the latter part is far too alarmist—frankly, it borders on sensationalism."
Homura adjusted his glasses and looked calmly at Danzo. "Danzo, it seems you have some prejudice against that child, Shinichi?"
"Of course I do."
Danzo's voice turned even colder as he tossed the document in his hand onto the table with a sharp slap.
"He has such talent! Why doesn't he focus on proper training and improving his strength? Instead, he wastes his time on all sorts of nonsense! A cooking competition? Manga? Is that what a proper ninja should be doing?"
At that, his gaze shifted to the Third Hokage, his tone sharpening, growing more aggressive: "It's not just him I have a problem with—I have an even bigger problem with you, Hiruzen. If you hadn't indulged him like this, would that boy be wasting his talent? Letting him enter cooking competitions? Letting him draw manga?"
The Third Hokage did not respond directly. He simply reached into a drawer, took out two more documents, and placed them on the table.
"This is not the child's first report—it's his third. Take a look at the previous two as well."
An ANBU stepped forward and delivered the two documents to the three elder advisors.
Moments later, both Homura and Koharu were visibly shaken, their expressions growing increasingly grave.
It turned out that in a report from two months ago, Higashino Shinichi had, based solely on publicly available intelligence, the Third Kazekage's usual behavior, and subtle movements within Sunagakure, directly deduced that the Third Kazekage had already met with misfortune.
At the time, however, the entire shinobi world assumed that even if the Third Kazekage was not in seclusion as Sunagakure claimed, he must be planning something else. No one had considered that something had happened to him.
"This child actually predicted it back then?" Homura blurted out in disbelief.
"Predicted what?"
Danzo cut in coldly from the side. "Rumors about the Third Kazekage's disappearance—or even death—had already been circulating. This boy merely heard some gossip and happened to guess correctly. That proves nothing."
"I say, Danzo, what's wrong with you…" Koharu frowned, clearly displeased as she glanced at him.
She couldn't understand why Danzo held such strong resentment toward Shinichi, such a good child. It wasn't just dislike—
It was resentment.
'That's right,' she realized.
'Resentment.'
"What's wrong with me?" Danzo met her gaze, his tone stiff. "A ninja who doesn't focus on the right path, wasting his time on cooking and manga—distracted and unfocused—how could he ever achieve anything? Hiruzen's indulgence is the real problem!"
"Winning a cooking competition also brings honor to the village. And as for manga—what's wrong with a young person having hobbies?"
Koharu raised her voice, her tone equally sharp.
"Besides, the child draws quite well, and the stories are interesting. Many villagers have even tried cooking from the recipes in it—I've tried some myself, and they're quite good. A child who loves life and is so multi-talented—why are you being so harsh, Danzo?"
"Harsh? I call it clarity!"
Danzo's voice grew colder still. He hadn't expected his old colleague to openly argue against him for that boy.
"That kind of messy drawing, those incoherent stories full of logical flaws! And those so-called lines about cooking being an extension of one's feelings, about bringing happiness through food—it's simply…"
"How do you know the drawings are messy and the story incoherent? And how do you know those lines?"
Koharu sharply caught the key point and interrupted him. "Danzo, you've read Number One Chef too?"
Danzo froze for a moment, then snorted. "Hmph! I merely wanted to see just how far Konoha's so-called genius has strayed down the path of neglecting his duties!"
Koharu let out a light laugh, mocking him. "Oh? Then it seems you read it quite carefully, Danzo—enough to remember the lines."
"That's enough, Koharu, Danzo," the Third Hokage interjected at the right moment, cutting off the argument before it could escalate further.
"We may each have our own opinions on how to nurture Shinichi and his interests. But there is still one last document. Let's finish reading it first, and then we'll discuss."
Hearing this, both Homura and Koharu nodded and immediately picked up the final document.
Danzo, however, still did not reach for it.
Time passed, second by second.
Homura's fingers held the paper as he turned the pages more and more slowly. In his eyes, seriousness gradually gave way to a kind of sudden clarity—as if a fog that had long clouded his mind was abruptly dispelled by the words on the page.
Koharu even unconsciously softened her breathing. Her brows went from tightly furrowed to slowly relaxing, then knitting again, clearly drawn deeper and deeper into a reassessment of the shinobi world's structure under the guidance of the text's logic.
It had been many years since Danzo had seen such expressions on the faces of these two old colleagues—a look as if their long-held understanding had been completely overturned.
An inexplicable irritation surged within him. He let out a heavy snort through his nose and finally reached out to grab the last document from the table.
[Analysis and Forecast of the Current Shinobi World Situation.}
He had opened it with the intention of finding faults. At first, as his eyes scanned the opening macro-level analysis, the trace of mockery at the corner of his mouth had yet to fade.
But soon, his gaze slowed.
His expression grew increasingly grave.
The shock in his heart deepened.
And then, the moment those two lines entered his sight, it was as if he had been struck by lightning.
The economic base determines the superstructure.
War is merely the continuation of politics by other means.
Danzo stared fixedly at those two lines, motionless.
What Koharu said afterward—that the child had accurately predicted the expansion of military forces among the nations as early as last year, and possessed such a clear understanding of the underlying logic of the shinobi world.
What Homura said—that it was no wonder Hiruzen had so decisively initiated Konoha's war preparation program; he had already seen it in the child's report.
What Hiruzen said—that they should go back, study it carefully, and reconvene tomorrow.
Danzo heard none of it.
Before his eyes, only those two lines remained, repeating over and over.
He didn't even know how he had left the Hokage's office.
He didn't know how he had walked through the familiar corridor.
He didn't know how he had exited the Hokage building.
By the time he came back to his senses, he was already standing at his own doorstep. A fine drizzle had settled on his shoulders—yet he hadn't noticed at all.
Night fell.
In the study, the lamplight was dim.
Danzo sat before his desk, the document laid out in front of him. He had read it over and over, countless times, for a long, long while—so long that the daylight outside the window had faded into pitch darkness.
And yet his gaze remained fixed on those few lines.
The economic base determines the superstructure.
War is merely the continuation of politics by other means.
Danzo had lived for over fifty years.
As a child, he grew up amid the smoke of the late Warring States era.
As a young man, he followed the Second Hokage into countless battles.
He had experienced the blood and fire of two great shinobi wars.
He had personally orchestrated countless unseen schemes.
In the shadows of Konoha, he had brokered countless exchanges of interest.
His hands were stained with the blood of enemies—and of comrades.
He had always believed that he had long since grasped the rules by which this world operated.
The strong prey on the weak.
Interests come first.
Power decides everything.
But he had never imagined that the world he had struggled through his entire life could be summarized so completely—so coldly, so irrefutably—by just two simple sentences.
He had always thought he was the one who saw most clearly in the darkness.
But only now did he realize—
After a lifetime of seeing, perhaps he had only seen the ripples on the surface of the water.
And that ten-year-old child…
"…Higashino Shinichi."
After a long while, Danzo let out a deep breath. He set down the document, stood up, walked to the window, and pushed it open.
His gaze passed over the eaves, falling toward the distant cemetery.
His thoughts, as if pulled by the endless night rain, suddenly plunged back to that rainy night four years ago.
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