Minato Namikaze would, naturally, throw his full weight behind Hiruko.
Beneath the sleeves of his Hokage robes, his palms were clenched white, yet he stared at the red ink of the village ledgers and nodded through gritted teeth. "Aside from essential operating costs, every scrap of revenue is to be funneled into post-war pensions and relief."
He thought of the veterans he saw limping past the Memorial Stone, and he remembered the hollow eyes of the children he'd seen in field hospitals during his youth, wrapped in bandages like silkworm cocoons.
"So what if development stalls for three years?" He traced the jagged tear on the rim of his Hokage hat—a scar earned from a jagged rock during the heat of the Fourth Shinobi World War.
Those veterans who had crawled back from the brink of death asked for very little: just the ability to stand tall, and the warmth of a hot bowl of porridge on a cold night.
A sudden evening breeze kicked up outside, swirling maple leaves against the ledger, staining the words "Pension Funds" a deep, blood-red.
Hiruko intended to fill the ninjas' pockets to the brim. If he did that, the shinobi would have no reason to protest. After all, who could guarantee they wouldn't eventually grow old or frail? Providing benefits for retired ninjas was a move that met with universal acclaim.
If one were to use the narrow, Sengoku-era mindset to judge this, they would quickly find themselves alienated from the heart of Konoha.
As for those retired ninjas with broken bodies and empty wallets, Hiruko had already arranged their destinies: the Academy and the Cinemas.
The Academy was obvious; even in this dark and cruel world, it was one of the few places where one could be addressed with the honorable title of "Sensei."
As for the film industry? Every qualified intelligence operative was, by necessity, a brilliant actor. Even the combat specialists were seasoned veterans; luring enemies into traps and deceiving them with feints was second nature. With them making movies, the professionalism was off the charts—every detail would be impeccable.
With money in their pockets and "face" in society, the veterans had little to complain about. Compared to the many comrades who hadn't survived the trenches, their current lives were a paradise. Even for those with permanent disabilities, Hiruko's prosthetic technology was available to restore their mobility—for a price, of course.
Meanwhile, Hiruko's old teammate Sarutobi Hiruzen was enjoying a rare moment of leisure.
Suddenly, the door was kicked open with a resounding bang. A rebellious youth walked in, a cigarette dangling from his lips, swaggering as if he owned the place.
"Hey, old man! Just how long do you plan on interfering with my life?"
The memory of being surrounded by thirty elite Sarutobi clansmen and ignominiously dragged back to Konoha—losing all face in front of Kurenai Yuhi—made Asuma's blood boil.
Hiruzen was currently relaxing in his private courtyard, a small sanctuary he considered his personal "foodie paradise." He lay comfortably in a rocking chair crafted by Hiruko, puffs of blue smoke rising from his pipe with every sway. His gaze was distant, unfocused, watching the small fish swim freely in the pond as he drifted through a private sea of contemplation.
The noise snapped Hiruzen back to reality. He shook his head slightly, thinking to himself: If only Asuma were as sensible as Minato or Shisui.But then again, the boy is full of life. That's better than Kakashi was at that age, drowning in self-imposed isolation.
Hiruzen had always cared deeply for everyone in the village, and Kakashi's depression had once weighed heavily on him. He had spent more effort worrying about Kakashi's mental state than his own son's rebellious streak.
In hindsight, Minato had been a bit misguided there. Seeing Kakashi withdrawing, Minato had transferred him directly into the ANBU, hoping to keep him close and provide guidance. He hadn't realized that the suffocating, dark atmosphere of the ANBU only made Kakashi more reclusive.
It was Hiruzen who eventually stepped in. Knowing Kakashi needed warmth, he suggested the boy be assigned to protect the pregnant Kushina Uzumaki. Watching the miracle of new life and the blessings of others helped Kakashi heal. Of course, the persistence of Might Guy helped—Guy's blindingly white smile could confuse an ANBU operative, and he had once begged Hiruzen in tears to let him join the ANBU to be with his friend.
Hiruzen and Minato had refused Guy because the ANBU was no place for someone so radiant. Instead, Hiruzen focused on fixing Kakashi, partly because of the boy's potential, and partly because he couldn't stand Guy pestering him every day.
Now, Hiruzen looked at his second son. Asuma's face still held the roundness of youth, but his eyes were full of stubborn defiance. Hiruzen sighed.
"From now on, just stay by your big brother's side," Hiruzen said slowly. "Go to the ANBU for a while and grind down that impulsive temper of yours."
The "sky" over Konoha was no longer the same as before. Muddled through life was no longer an option.
"Once your character has stabilized, you'll go to the Hokage to gain experience. Learn your place, accumulate political capital. Otherwise, when Minato's reforms truly take hold, the situation will swallow you whole."
Asuma, already fuming over his humiliation in front of Kurenai, exploded at the sight of his father once again arranging his life like a chess piece. "Dad, what are you talking about?! My life is mine to control! Stop interfering!"
As Asuma turned to storm out, Hiruzen took a deep drag from his pipe. He exhaled a slow smoke ring and said softly, "From now on, the Land of Fire can have only one voice, and only one official organization. That is Konoha."
"What does that mean?" Asuma spun back, a sense of dread rising in his chest.
"As of today, the Guardian Shinobi Twelve no longer exists," Hiruzen stated with a flat finality.
Truthfully, Hiruzen had never liked the Guardian Twelve. They often undermined the Hokage's image and had too much influence over his son. In the past, he'd tolerated it for the sake of harmony. But now, with Minato in power, the internal and external threats neutralized, and Hiruko's backing, Hiruzen was unafraid of sacrifice—be it his own or someone else's.
"What do you mean?!" Asuma roared. "Old man, you can't abuse your power like this! The Daimyo will be furious!"
Asuma assumed his father was lashing out at his colleagues because of his own disobedience. He was torn between anger, fear for the village, and concern for his friends. While he wasn't a master of political intrigue, he wasn't blind to the stakes.
Hiruzen shook his head, a cold resolve in his eyes. "Soon, the map of the Land of Fire may no longer include the name 'Fire Temple.' Those monks who should have been seeking peace and chanting sutras have allowed their hearts to be clouded by worldly desires. We shall simply send them to meet the true Buddha."
He paused, a wry smile touching his lips. "Those aren't my words. That's what Hiruko and Orochimaru say when they chat."
Hiruzen tapped the ash from his pipe and looked at Asuma with sudden, harsh severity. "Asuma, it's time to grow up."
He knew of the bond between Asuma and Chiriku, the future heir of the Fire Temple. It was a pure, youthful bond—much like the one he once shared with Danzo. But so what?
If Konoha was to truly rise above the other nations, any obstacle in its path had to be removed. Personal feelings were insignificant compared to the village's destiny. Rather than letting Asuma find out the truth later and hold a grudge, it was better to have him do it himself. If he had to hate someone, let him hate his father for being ruthless. If he dared to hate Minato or Hiruko, those two would play him like a fiddle until he broke.
Hiruzen had decided to erase the Guardian Twelve—or at least, the organization as it stood. While the Hokage's office hadn't issued an official order—Minato was too busy with war fallout to handle "dirty work"—Hiruzen's private forces, the elite of the Sarutobi clan, were ready.
Hiruzen knew not everyone in the Twelve deserved to die. Some could be imprisoned and converted. The Fire Temple had innocent acolytes as well. If outsiders did the job, no child would be spared. But if the Sarutobi clan handled it, some could be saved to carry on a different kind of legacy. This was the only protection a father could offer his son's heart.
"What are you saying?" Asuma's pupils shrank. He realized this was far deeper than he'd thought. But thinking of "freedom" and his friends, he didn't wait to hear more. He bolted for the door.
Hiruzen didn't move. "Bring him back. Lock him in the old estate."
"Release him only when he truly understands."
As soon as he spoke, a shadow blurred from the corner. Fifty dark-clad, cold-faced shinobi appeared, bowing deeply to Hiruzen. These were the elites of the Sarutobi clan—a clan that had been a powerhouse since the Warring States period. Even with Hiruzen no longer Hokage, his authority as Clan Head remained absolute. Dealing with a Chunin-level Asuma was trivial for them.
The lush leaves of Konoha must stretch toward the sun, but the roots hidden in the dark must nourish them in silence.
Danzo... we walk different paths, but have we come any closer to the 'protection' we both sought for this village?
Somewhere in a secret facility, Hiruko stood outside a cell, looking coldly at the occupant.
Inside, Yugito Nii, the Jinchuriki of the Two-Tails, was bound hand and foot by heavy chains. Her clothes were torn, her hair a silver mess over her shoulders. She looked utterly broken, her eyes hollow, as if her very soul had been siphoned away.
It was a picture of tragic beauty. But then—
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