The air in the Hokage's office was stiff enough to snap in half.
"The ANBU unit we sent after Zeldris… they've gone dark," the shinobi said, face drawn tight. "No comms. No signs. Nothing."
He paused like he didn't want to say the next part.
"Their last transmission pinged them near the Wind border."
Before Hiruzen could speak, a cold, sandpaper voice cut through the tension like a kunai through wet paper.
"…The Land of Wind?"
Everyone in the room turned slightly—as if the temperature had just dropped five degrees.
Shimura Danzo stood at the back, wrapped in white bandages like a mummy with unresolved trauma. His one visible eye narrowed like it was aiming for someone's soul.
"Keep monitoring the situation," Danzo ordered. "Send a new squad. I want details. No excuses."
"Yes, Lord Danzo!" the shinobi answered with a crisp nod before flickering out of sight.
Now only two men remained: Sarutobi Hiruzen, the Third Hokage, and Danzo—the man who treated morality like it owed him money.
Danzo turned his eye to the Hokage, face as pleasant as a thundercloud.
"This is worse than we thought."
Hiruzen said nothing. Just exhaled smoke from his pipe like it might carry the stress away with it.
"The team we sent—handpicked, elite jōnin," he said finally. "This wasn't supposed to happen."
Danzo scoffed, sharp and cold.
"I told you we should've let me handle Zeldris," he snapped. "You had your chance to lock him away—or kill him outright. Instead, you played teacher."
He paced once like a man who couldn't decide whether to be angry or furious.
"Now half that squad's dead, and they weren't just any shinobi—they were Root."
That last word landed like an accusation and a threat wrapped into one.
"You've got blood on your robes, Sarutobi."
Hiruzen's calm cracked. Just for a moment.
"He's a jōnin, Danzo. A powerful one, yes—but still a child."
Danzo gave a sharp laugh with no humor in it.
"So was Itama. So was Nawaki. So was every genius before they became a problem."
He jabbed a bandaged finger in Hiruzen's direction.
"You let your nostalgia get people killed."
Hiruzen puffed quietly on his pipe. Smoke coiled from his lips like a sigh that had lived too long.
"…We'll wait. We might still hear from them."
Danzo turned his back, already heading for the door.
"Hope is not a strategy," he muttered. "You're too soft. That softness is going to bury this village one day."
He paused at the doorway, one last icy jab ready to launch.
"He's fifteen. Barely started. And already this dangerous. What do you think he'll be in five years?"
Then he disappeared, like a ghost with a grudge.
Hiruzen stared at the closed door for a long while. Then down at the mission report on his desk—blood-red ink soaking the page.
He didn't say a word.
But his silence said enough.
Meanwhile — Amegakure, Land of Rain
If Konoha was a garden, Amegakure was a bruise.
Rain fell in an endless drizzle, painting the metal-clad village in shades of melancholy. The buildings stood like tired giants, their spires piercing the sky like they were trying to stab the weather itself.
Deep underground, in a cavern lit by flickering torches and the occasional ominous drip, three figures stood in a tense triangle.
"You're telling me… the Red Sand Scorpion refused?" came a voice, distorted and muffled behind a swirling orange mask.
The man was draped in a black cloak patterned with red clouds—fashionable if you ignored the mass murder. His tone wasn't angry. Just… annoyed. Like someone had just canceled his evil brunch plans.
Before him stood two others.
One: a woman with paper-white hair and an origami flower pinned above one ear—Konan, freshly returned from the Wind Country.
The other: tall, orange-haired, and eerily still. His Rinnegan eyes glowed faintly in the dark.
Pain. Leader of the Akatsuki. God-complex included.
Konan nodded calmly.
"He didn't just refuse."
She let the pause hang there, heavy with meaning.
"He sent a message."
Another pause.
"…The Third Kazekage is dead."
Even the rain seemed to stutter for a moment.
Pain's eyes sharpened. The masked man leaned forward.
"Come again?"
"Dead," Konan repeated. "Assassinated. Sasori left the body behind."
For a moment, none of them spoke.
Then, the masked man let out a dry, humorless chuckle.
"Well. That's one way to RSVP."
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