The moment Itoshiki Furukawa stepped onto the battlefield felt like a memory burned into his bones—raw, immediate, and inescapable. Yet somehow, more than a year had passed since that first step, slipping by like water through cupped hands. Now, at last, he was alive, upright, and returning to the Hidden Leaf Village—Konoha. His stride was slow, weighted by exhaustion, but every step carried a quiet pride. He had survived. He had endured.
The Land of Fire, the mightiest nation on the continent, had plunged deep into this war expecting swift gains. Instead, it found only a bottomless mire that swallowed its resources and sons whole. The promised victories had bled into stalemates; glory gave way to attrition.
So when Hanzō of the Salamander offered a ceasefire, Konoha's elders didn't hesitate. Without even needing a formal vote, they reached a silent consensus: the war, whatever it had meant at the start, was no longer worth the toll it demanded.
As the defending side, Konoha initiated a full withdrawal of its forces from the Land of Rain—leaving behind only routine garrison units to watch the borderlands. And so, the long march home began.
Ten kilometers out from the village gates, a grand welcoming party awaited the returning shinobi. Elegant chariots pulled by armored warhorses stood in formation. The war heroes were invited aboard—not as tools of the state, but as living legends returning from the edge of death.
Itoshiki was placed at the head of the procession. Riding beside him were Tsunade, Jiraiya, and Orochimaru—recently honored with the title of "The Sannin." The most brilliant seats were, naturally, reserved for the most radiant warriors.
The convoy moved swiftly, the sun climbing high overhead as they neared Konoha. The timing felt deliberate—as if even the heavens had been cued to mark this triumphant return.
At the village gates stood the Third Hokage, Hiruzen Sarutobi, dressed in his formal red-and-white robes, pipe in hand, a calm smile on his face. The pride in his eyes betrayed no hint of weariness. Today, he welcomed not just soldiers—but victors.
Petals rained from above like blessings from the ancestors. The air was sweet with floral fragrance. Colorful scarves embroidered with intricate patterns fluttered from balconies and rooftops, thrown by cheering villagers. The streets were alive with cries of joy. Names were shouted—some familiar, some new. But one echoed again and again: Itoshiki!
At a special platform raised for the occasion, the Third Hokage took his place at the highest point. The Sannin stood at his back, and behind them, the seasoned jōnin, led by none other than Itoshiki Furukawa.
Hiruzen Sarutobi's voice carried clearly over the crowd, every word measured, every pause purposeful.
"It has been nearly twenty years since the tragic passing of the Second Hokage. In all that time, we have held firm to the path of peaceful development. But peace, as always, proves far too short to be mourned."
He let his gaze sweep over the crowd before continuing.
"When the Rain Village dared ignite the flames of war, we did not cower. We did not yield. And under the guiding light of the Will of Fire, we endured. We have prevailed."
A beat of silence. Then:
"Yet the shadows have not lifted completely. The Sand Village watches the Land of Rivers with hungry eyes. The storm has not yet passed. But I say this to you all—Konoha will not falter. Konoha will not fall. Konoha will win the final victory!"
The crowd erupted. The very ground seemed to shake with the force of their pride. The Will of Fire burned bright.
As the speech ended, most of the thousand-strong force were granted immediate leave—free to return to their families, to taste peace once more, however briefly. Those whose names had risen to prominence, however, were called forward to be honored directly by the Hokage.
Itoshiki was among them.
Those not dismissed would be rotated: some would return with Jiraiya to reinforce the Rain border; others would head east to bolster Konoha's front in the Land of Rivers, where tensions with the Sand Ninja were beginning to smolder.
Interestingly, Jiraiya had personally requested to remain stationed at the Rain border, despite the official order assigning both him and Orochimaru to the Sand front. Orochimaru, as always, remained silent on the matter.
Tsunade, revered for her peerless medical ninjutsu, was assigned to Konoha itself. Her role now was to treat the wounded returning from the front—a position of responsibility far more vital than most realized. In war, soldiers could be replaced. But master medics… they were forged in peace, and peace was always the rarest resource.
War never stopped. Children graduated from the academy into open graves, and those who survived stepped into the same missions, the same battles. The cycle was endless. But healers had to be cultivated over years, not just trained—they were Konoha's most delicate asset.
And then there was Itoshiki Furukawa.
On the battlefield of the Land of Rain, he had shone like a falling star—brilliant, unstoppable, and impossible to ignore. And now, standing at the platform, the Third Hokage addressed him directly.
"Itoshiki… has it really been three years since I saw you rise to Chūnin?" Hiruzen's voice softened. "You've become a ninja who can stand tall on any battlefield."
Itoshiki bowed his head slightly, not out of protocol, but respect. He had seen too much to crave titles. Still, the words struck something in him.
For a moment, amid all the noise, he allowed himself to feel it—the quiet gravity of being alive.
The Third Hokage's expression softened the moment Itoshiki entered, a quiet warmth flickering in his eyes. His first words weren't orders or accolades—they were memories.
"It feels like just yesterday you became a Chūnin," Hiruzen began, his tone more grandfather than general. "Time passes quickly for those who carry the weight of the battlefield."
Itoshiki bowed respectfully, his voice calm and steady. "If not for the village's guidance—and Lady Tsunade's mentorship—I wouldn't be standing here today. As an orphan, I had nothing but the Will of Fire to hold onto."
Hiruzen nodded, clearly pleased. "All three of them speak highly of you. Jiraiya tends to praise everyone, of course," he added with a light chuckle. "But Orochimaru chooses his words carefully, and Tsunade rarely speaks on anyone's behalf. Yet they all acknowledged your growth."
Itoshiki listened in silence, his head slightly lowered, absorbing every word.
"The field commanders admire you as well," Hiruzen continued. "Even Hanzo of the Salamander offered praise—and he doesn't give it lightly. You've earned your place, Itoshiki."
There was a pause, and then the Hokage stepped forward, reaching into the wide sleeve of his ceremonial robes. From within, he produced a scroll, neatly sealed.
"From now on, you carry a name worthy of your deeds," Hiruzen declared, placing the scroll in his hands. "Mad Lion of Konoha. This title isn't just a symbol—it's my recognition of your spirit."
Itoshiki took the scroll with both hands, bowing once more. As he opened it, his eyes quickly scanned the contents—not forbidden arts or revolutionary jutsu, but four well-chosen techniques: two Wind Release, two Lightning Release. Two C-rank. Two B-rank. Clean, efficient, adaptable.
They weren't flashy. But they filled the exact gaps in his current style. Hiruzen knew that. This was a gift crafted with understanding, not extravagance.
"You'll stay in the village for now," Hiruzen said, his voice drawing Itoshiki's thoughts back to the room. "You've gained much on the battlefield—experience, reflexes, instinct. But war doesn't teach everything. Let your mind catch up to your hands."
The Hokage's eyes grew gentler. "You're still young. Don't let battle steal that from you too early. Rest. Reflect. Refine."
Itoshiki remained still, the scroll held close. Something unspoken passed between them.
Hiruzen tapped his desk lightly, his voice low and thoughtful. "Strength isn't just about how hard you hit. It's about how completely you stand. Ninjutsu and taijutsu—they're like wings. You need both to fly."
His eyes drifted, lost in memory. "In my youth, I believed fists were everything. I chased physical power like it was the answer to every problem. But time—and war—taught me better."
He looked directly at Itoshiki.
"The harmony between your body and your jutsu—that's where a shinobi's true power lies. Build that balance. Go further than I ever did."
A brief silence passed.
Itoshiki bowed once again, the gravity of the moment settling over him like a second cloak. "I will remember your words, Lord Hokage. Always."
And with that, the Mad Lion of Konoha took his leave—silent, composed, and carrying not just a scroll, but a legacy.
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