Chapter 197: Hokage, Hokage!
Hatake residence.
A tall white-haired man, alone in his courtyard in casual clothes, sharpened a blade.
The war had ended. The entire ninja world was catching its breath — even the smaller nations had gone quiet. Mission assignments had dropped sharply. Without a suitable deployment and without Guy around to train with, Kakashi had nothing to do.
What does a twenty-eight-year-old man do alone at home?
Sharpen blades. Train. Sharpen blades. Train.
He studied the polished edge. In the black and red of his mismatched eyes, something that could be called loneliness moved briefly across the surface.
His hand drifted to cover the Sharingan eye.
Blurring. He'd noticed it getting worse.
The sustained combat — multiple fronts, multiple engagements, opponents who forced him to use Kamui repeatedly. Against the Eight-Tails alone, against Kakuzu — he'd lost count of how many times he'd activated it.
The Mangekyo was a power that led toward darkness. He knew this. Without a solution to the progressive vision loss, returning to the blade work his father had taught him seemed like the only sensible approach.
He raised the short sword and caught his own reflection in it.
He heard someone approach, and pulled his mask up from habit.
"Kakashi?"
Sasuke looked at the blade with mild surprise. In his entire time as a student, he'd never seen Kakashi actually use one in practice. Teaching the White Fang's sword art hadn't been a demonstration — it had been a scroll and answers to questions.
"Sasuke. What brings you out here?"
Something genuine moved through Kakashi's expression.
This one is nothing like Obito.
Nothing like any Uchiha I've known.
"Is there a rule that says I can't visit my teacher?"
Sasuke stood with his hands in his pockets.
"My adorable student, did you run into some kind of trouble you need me to solve?"
Kakashi read the careful indifference immediately and let himself smile.
Sasuke gave him the look that expression deserved.
Then he told him everything about the previous night.
When Sasuke finished, Kakashi's brow had drawn together.
"Danzō."
No warmth in his voice at the name. None at all.
The man had once tried to use the Wood Release technique — through Kinoe's body — to assassinate Hiruzen. It had failed. And there were other things on Kakashi's mental ledger connected to that name.
"Don't trust him, Sasuke. He's been swallowed by the dark."
He set the blade down.
"Do I seem easily deceived to you?" Sasuke asked.
"Not at all. You're my student."
Kakashi said it against his better judgment.
"Interested in a match? My current self might actually be more than you can handle."
Sasuke was itching for it. He hadn't tested this version of himself against Kakashi since before everything — before the war, before the Mangekyo, before the Lightning Release training.
In his mental image of Kakashi, this was still the man who'd gone three rounds with Zabuza as a rough draw. A solid jonin, a good teacher.
But the current Sasuke carried the Mangekyo, the White Fang's sword art, and the lightning body technique. Even without activating the Mangekyo, he felt confident.
Kakashi looked at him. Then looked at the whetstone.
"It would be embarrassing if a student surpassed me too easily," he said. "Means the teacher wasn't much."
He stood. For the first time in front of Sasuke, he drew a blade.
"That sword you have is decent work. When we're done, I could probably get you a proper commission through the Ninja Cat clan."
Sasuke drew his own.
"I'd actually rather you had something repaired. My father left me a blade — it broke years ago. I'd like it reforged."
Kakashi thought about the White Fang, his father's famous tantō, snapped in the Third Shinobi World War. Reforging it had been a thought he'd never quite acted on.
"Easy enough."
Sasuke dropped into stance, something lit behind his eyes.
Then he attacked.
Then a blade was at his throat.
"Looks like I won."
Kakashi's expression was all curved eyes and cheerful innocence.
"You won. There's nothing impressive about announcing it."
Sasuke sheathed his sword and looked away.
"A teacher being surpassed by a student is a genuine source of satisfaction. But if it happens too easily, it just reflects poorly on the teacher."
Kakashi ruffled his hair once, allowing himself a moment of something he didn't usually show.
Three students. Only Sasuke had genuinely inherited what he'd taught.
Not for lack of effort on his part — it was simply that Sakura and Naruto's styles were fundamentally incompatible with his. Their scales were already beyond what he could calibrate for. Sakura's sheer output. Naruto's reserves.
And honestly, finding time to teach either of them had been its own challenge.
Some things worked out the way they were supposed to.
Hokage's office.
Homura looked at the cleared desk and stroked his beard with real satisfaction.
Hiruzen had found, before the very end, a genuine successor.
The speed alone was striking — she'd processed his full daily workload in under half a day. Every decision grounded, defensible, coherent.
One consistent note throughout:
Each document also contained a detailed description of how the relevant department had failed at its job and wasted the Hokage's time with something it should have handled independently.
Every branch of the village's administrative apparatus had received what could charitably be called a comprehensive critique of its competency. The ripple effect had been immediate — every office operating with unusual care, nobody wanting to be the next file that crossed the desk and earned another annotation.
"I'm heading out. Don't call me for anything."
"I also mean: don't call me for anything."
Sakura dropped this over her shoulder, climbed through the window, and was gone.
Homura shook his head faintly, smiling despite himself.
"Insufferable girl."
Koharu made a disapproving sound from the couch.
What kind of future Hokage exits through the window?
Where is the decorum? The gravity? The dignity of the office?
Homura picked up the file Sakura had last discarded — the Barrier Team's maintenance report.
In the margin, Sakura had specifically noted: No playing cards on duty. Cards is one thing. Using Byakugan to cheat at cards is an insult to competitive integrity. Sort this out.
He stared at it.
Is she permitting on-duty card games, or isn't she?
Amegakure.
Conference room.
Akatsuki, assembled.
"Let me introduce our newest member."
Pain looked at the room.
"Hiruko."
Beside him stood a small figure — white hair, white clothes, red eyes, a face that looked like a teenager.
"This one's kind of cute, yeah."
Deidara, constitutionally unable to stop himself.
"He will take the position formerly held by Orochimaru. The ring Orochimaru carries needs to be recovered. We'll need to find him."
"And while we're at it — eliminate the traitor."
"Who's willing?"
"Not interested."
Sasori, immediately. Losing the Third Kazekage puppet and over a hundred others had dropped his operational capability to its lowest point in years. He had a Fourth Raikage body delivered by Zetsu to deal with.
"The great evil god has no use for cold-blooded reptiles."
Hidan picked at his ear.
"I'll go! Let Orochimaru appreciate the art of an explosion."
Deidara was already volunteering.
Pain acknowledged this and looked at the room.
"I'll come."
Kisame, next to Itachi, smiled with too many teeth.
Itachi, beside Kisame, gave no indication of caring.
"Itachi — you've fought Orochimaru directly. Any recommendation?"
"...Winnable. Straightforward."
A pause.
"Can't be killed."
"Ha? Are you scared?"
Deidara raised an eyebrow at him.
Itachi declined to respond to Deidara.
"In that case — Hiruko, Deidara, Kisame. You three retrieve Orochimaru's ring."
Pain had already shifted from "eliminate" to "retrieve" based on that two-word assessment.
"One more matter."
The room's attention sharpened.
"Tailed beast collection."
Every person present adjusted — even Itachi opened his eyes.
Only Hiruko watched without reaction.
"With Yagura Karatachi's death in battle, the Three-Tails is currently in its reconstitution phase. Our plan requires adjustment."
"By my estimate, the Three-Tails will re-emerge in approximately three years."
"Use this time well. Improve your capabilities. What's coming will require it."
Pain's voice was level throughout.
The room went quiet under the weight of the implication.
Collecting all the tailed beasts meant open conflict with the Five Great Villages. Two of the nine — the Two-Tails and the Nine-Tails — were currently in Konoha.
Which meant, eventually, a direct confrontation with a specific pink-haired shinobi who would not tolerate anyone touching either.
Nobody in this room was prepared to say, with confidence, that they could win that fight.
Several of them had tried already. The results were on the record.
Kakuzu had been chased from River Country to the Rain Country border. Sasori had lost everything he'd taken years to build and barely escaped. Itachi had spent a full night in Konoha getting battered by consecutive opponents, with the Mangekyo's vision deteriorating.
The girl was not a problem that could be solved with current capability.
Meeting adjourned. People filed out quietly, each carrying their own version of the same thought.
Hiruko returned to his quarters.
Someone was already there.
Obito. Mask off, showing his real face.
"Report."
"An ambitious organization," Hiruko said, settling into a chair with an entirely unimpressed expression.
"I didn't ask for that."
"I'm asking about Spiral Rot. When can we start."
Obito's eyes were flat and patient.
The man in the chair was fifty. He looked fourteen. Spiral Rot was his own creation — a technique requiring five separate Kekkei Genkai integrated into one body, sustained through a specific solar eclipse alignment.
The Sharingan component had been the bottleneck. Of the known Sharingan users: Obito himself, Itachi inside Akatsuki, Hatake Kakashi and Uchiha Sasuke in Konoha. The latter two were inaccessible. Obito was here.
First candidate: Obito as the test run. If the technique held up, Hiruko would proceed on himself.
The Sharingan problem for that second phase had its own solution already staged.
"Spiral Rot is complete. I'm waiting for compatible Kekkei Genkai donors."
"Beyond your own Sharingan and Wood Release — I recommend Swift Release for speed, Steel Release for defensive resilience, and Storm Release for ranged offensive capability."
Obito filed this.
"I'd suggest Storm Release over Corrosion Release," said a voice from below the floor.
Black Zetsu surfaced.
"Why?"
Hiruko's eyes narrowed slightly.
"Obito's Kamui already makes him immune to most techniques. Steel Release stacks on top of that. There's no remaining gap for Corrosion Release to fill."
"Storm Release gives him something he doesn't already have — real offensive reach at distance."
Hiruko's expression didn't change visibly.
You're right. Which is exactly why I suggested Corrosion Release.
If Obito becomes too difficult to manage later, that choice was a pre-built limitation.
This Zetsu is in the way.
Something will need to be done about him.
"If that's the preferred structure, fine. The prerequisite is acquiring Swift Release, Steel Release, and Storm Release users."
Hiruko waved a hand, nothing more to add.
"That's manageable."
Obito nodded.
Zetsu said nothing further. He watched.
He knew about the Hashirama cell concentration in Obito's body. What others couldn't stabilize, Hashirama cells absorbed and integrated. The evidence was in Madara's history — raw, uncontrollable power had become tractable in the presence of those cells.
Hiruko didn't carry that advantage.
I know what you're planning, Zetsu thought, not saying it aloud.
I know what your real intentions are with the Corrosion Release suggestion.
It changes nothing. You're still the most useful available resource, and useful resources get used.
"One more thing," Hiruko said, looking at Zetsu directly. "I need research funding. The technique development doesn't run cheap."
This was genuinely true, and one of the actual reasons he'd agreed to this arrangement — access to serious capital.
"That's easily arranged."
Zetsu nodded.
The Lightning Daimyo was already under their influence. Military capability expenditures never got refused.
Seven days later.
Hiruzen returned from the Fire Daimyo's capital with the chakra armor research allocation, a commendation for Konoha's wartime performance, and a sum that made the entire administrative staff smile visibly.
The Daimyo of Fire Country, presiding over the wealthiest nation in the world, had been notably generous.
Several billion ryō. Back to Konoha.
Nearly the entire room full of senior leadership was pleased.
Except Sakura. And Danzō, elsewhere in the building.
Sakura, because the largest and most prosperous nation on the continent had apparently budgeted its military at a level that would have been a footnote in her previous life's world news cycle.
She was adjusting her expectations to this world's economic scale.
Though — Wind and Water Country's war reparations were incoming. That would help considerably.
"Sakura. Good work."
Hiruzen looked over the week's completed administrative work and nodded with genuine satisfaction.
Somehow his entire daily workload had been processed in under half a day, every time.
There was one small issue — every single document now included detailed commentary on which department had wasted the Hokage's time with something it should have handled at its own level. The village's administrative staff had been operating under low-grade collective anxiety for a week.
"Then you can handle the rest of this. I'm leaving."
Sakura gave him a look, stood up, and headed for the window.
"Eh — wait, if things at Turtle Island don't move quickly enough, you can—"
"You're trying to keep me here to do your work."
She caught it immediately.
The deal had been two hours a day. She'd been here half the morning.
"Ha... well, about that—"
"I'm going. Take care of yourself."
She was out the window before he finished the sentence.
Hiruzen shook his head at the empty frame.
She was so obedient when she was small.
How did she end up so fond of windows.
Jiraiya and Tsunade, all over again.
In his office, Danzō stared at the financial documents.
The reparations breakdown. The Daimyo's research allocation.
His fist came down on the desk.
Mine.
All of this should have been mine.
Hundreds of billions flowing through Konoha's accounts — if Root had access to even a fraction of this—
His jaw was tight.
The Hokage's seat had never been further from him than it was right now.
The current Hokage was seventy. The designated successor was thirteen.
He was seventy. He couldn't outlast someone thirteen years old. No amount of careful living would close that gap.
The direct path was gone. A detour was necessary.
The Fire Daimyo's ear. Work from that angle. Find a way to block the formal nomination.
And if that failed—
Danzō stood.
That girl.
If she didn't come back from Turtle Island—
He walked toward the door with long, deliberate strides.
Hokage.
Hokage.
It was so close, once.
One step away.
Why is it so much harder to reach now?
I am the one who should lead Konoha. I alone can return it to the greatness of the First Hokage's era.
Tobirama-sensei.
You chose wrong when you chose Hiruzen.
Let me prove it.
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