"Kakashi… why are you here?"

Danzo stepped forward through the rain, his cane striking the wet ground with a dull thock. His voice was cold, his single eye narrowing with quiet scrutiny.

Kakashi met his gaze without flinching, his posture perfectly balanced — neither deferential nor confrontational.

"Uchiha Sasuke is missing," he said evenly. "The Third suspects the Akatsuki."

The name seemed to ignite something in Danzo's expression — a brief flash of cold light before it vanished. For a moment, he was silent, the sound of rain filling the space between them. Then came a low, disdainful chuckle.

"The last orphan of the Uchiha… taken. Hmph. And still Hiruzen sits in that chair. He is not fit to remain Hokage."

The words were barbed, but Kakashi could not entirely dismiss them. In truth, there was some merit in Danzo's criticism.

Konoha was moving too slowly — consumed with securing the safety of its noble clans while the lives of ordinary citizens barely registered in its priorities.

And with a planetary crisis looming, the village's inefficiency had begun to gnaw at Kakashi, leaving him with a faint, unwelcome taste of doubt.

Danzo, sensing that flicker, tapped his cane once more, a measured strike that carried weight. "So… you've come to warn Jiraiya?"

"Yes."

The rain pressed in around them, cold needles on bare skin. After a long moment, Kakashi asked, "Lord Danzo… what brings you to the Rain Village?"

Danzo's mouth curved faintly — though there was no warmth in it. "I wish to meet the one who possesses the Rinnegan."

Kakashi suspected as much.

And he doubted Danzo's interest was merely diplomatic.

"The world is unsteady," Danzo continued, voice smooth but calculated. "Sooner or later, the Five Great Nations will need to cooperate with these mercenary powers. If we do not display sufficient strength, they will never bow to Konoha."

The reasoning was sound… but in Kakashi's gut, the purpose felt different — not deterrence, but possession. Control.

Danzo studied him, but when Kakashi said nothing, he simply lifted one hand.The Root operatives behind him shifted as one, parting to reveal a narrow, shadowed path.

Kakashi stood still for a breath before stepping forward. But just as he reached the edge of darkness, Danzo's voice halted him.

"Kakashi. I hear your dream… is to become Hokage."

Kakashi's step faltered. His shoulders stiffened. He did not turn at first, but his reply came calm, almost conversational: "And you, Lord Danzo? Is it yours as well?"

The question landed softly, yet something in Danzo's face tightened. His eye sharpened, his voice clipped. "What — do you mean to mock me?"

Kakashi turned now, meeting his gaze with quiet steadiness.

"I have no intention to mock anyone. If it benefits Konoha's future, who wears the Hokage's hat doesn't matter… even if it is you, Lord Danzo."

No flattery.

No sarcasm.

Just truth, spoken plainly.

And it caught Danzo off-guard.

For a moment, the two regarded each other, the rain blurring the edges of their forms. Danzo's mind worked quickly, trying to read the man before him. Kakashi's stance was neither loyalty nor opposition — it was… conditional. And that made him dangerous.

"The world edges toward catastrophe," Kakashi said at last. "If someone truly strong enough to lead Konoha out of this chaos emerges… I will support them."

Danzo gave a low laugh. "Careful, Kakashi. Words like that could trouble Hiruzen."

Kakashi shook his head. "I speak only what I believe. The Hokage will not fault me for honesty."

He turned and walked into the mist, his figure fading with each step. Danzo stood watching, his cane unmoving.

Those words — light as they seemed — had struck deep.

As long as it benefits Konoha, it doesn't matter who becomes Hokage…

Even me.

Danzo let the thought linger, his expression unreadable.

Danzo's lone visible eye narrowed to a slit.

He turned slowly, the faint creak of his cane nearly drowned by the hiss of the rain.

Then, without warning, his bandaged right eye opened.The crimson Sharingan flared to life — three tomoe whirling like ripples in a dark pond, radiating a cold that seemed to seep into the marrow.

Around him, the Root operatives stood motionless, their posture perfect, their silence absolute — as if they were carved from stone.

But under the Sharingan's gaze, the flawless stillness fractured.

One operative's fingers twitched — a movement so small it might have gone unnoticed by any normal man.

To Danzo, it was as loud as a knock on the Door.

His gaze fixed on the offender.

Root was built on unyielding control — mental, physical, and spiritual.

Yet Danzo had never been naïve enough to think infiltration was impossible.

Hiruzen's remarkable calm in the face of a force he could not directly command had always been… telling.

It was inevitable that a rat would slip in sooner or later.

And now, the stench of one lay bare before him.

The operative realized he had been marked. He stepped back slightly, muscles tensing for escape.

Kakashi's earlier words still rang in his ears —

They not only indicated Kakashi's potential doubts about the Third Hokage's leadership style but also subtly revealed a certain inclination towards a change in power.

Such information had a significant impact on the village's future direction and had to be delivered to the Hokage as quickly as possible.

He had to deliver it to the Third, even if it cost him his life.

Danzo's cursed seals were formidable, but his own failsafe communication technique would reach Hiruzen… even in death.

So he moved.

He barely took a breath before something stirred behind him.

On Danzo's right arm, the flesh writhed. The skin turned a muted gray-brown as dormant Wood Release cells awoke. From his arm, thin, withered roots burst forth like veins forced outside the skin, twisting and weaving together into the shape of a weapon.

The result was a blade both grotesque and alien — black as wet ink, its length marked with pulsing lines like human blood vessels.At the hilt, those same wooden veins burrowed into Danzo's flesh, feeding the weapon as if it were alive.

Then, in his palm, another eye opened — Fugaku Uchiha's Sharingan — glowing in synchrony with the weapon's thrum.

Danzo moved.

No cane.

No measured steps.

His body blurred forward, swift and lethal, as if the weight of his years had been peeled away.

"Danzo—" the operative managed to gasp.

Raven-dark wood tore through rain and air alike.The downpour's rhythm broke with a sound both sharp and wet.

The wooden blade sank in without resistance.

A fine spray of crimson laced the mist. The operative's mouth opened, but no words came. His eyes, wide with the urge to speak, dimmed instead.

His knees hit the earth with a muffled splash.

Danzo stood over him, unmoved. His gaze was that of a man reading a ledger, finding an error, and correcting it.

The bloodied weapon slid free with a faint sucking sound. Rainwater washed down its length, mingling with fresh red before dripping into the mud — where the upper half of the traitor's body collapsed lifelessly.

Danzo flicked his wrist once. Droplets scattered.

Without ceremony, the wooden roots that formed his weapon surged forward, coiling around what remained. Flesh and bone vanished into the mass — devoured, erased, leaving only clean, wet ground.

The Sharingan's glow dimmed. The roots withdrew into his arm, disappearing as though they had never been.

Bandages fell back into place.

Shadows claimed his face once more.

"Continue the mission."

"Yes," came the reply — every voice level, cold, and perfectly in unison.

The rain swallowed the scene, as if it had never happened.