Facing the Shinra Tensei that tore across the land, Danzō's body shook violently, his boots grinding into the fractured stone beneath him. The cane in his grip vibrated from the shock.

For an instant, the world was nothing but roaring wind and crushing pressure.

His right eye—hidden beneath layers of bandages—burned as the Sharingan spun furiously, trying to read the patterns of this assault, gauge its timing, find some way to brace. But even with its predictive perception, the repulsive force seemed to bend space itself, turning every defense into brittle paper.

The tiles at his feet cracked and split like ice under strain, forcing him to stagger back several steps. His dark robes whipped wildly in the wind, flapping like banners in a storm.

It was a humiliating sight.

Even after all the power he had stolen, all the modifications and forbidden techniques he had hoarded… here he was—forced backward like a leaf in the gale.

That feeling—that raw, undeniable sense of helplessness—seeped into his chest like ice water. And beneath it… came the heat of shame.

The Root operatives did not hesitate. They surged forward, animal masks glinting under the rain, forming a defensive perimeter around their leader. Kunai flashed, chakra blades hummed, and every muscle was coiled tight.

But the oppressive tide of Nagato's killing intent made even their disciplined stances quiver. Their defense was already cracking before the first blow fell.

Nagato's expression had gone from storm to glacier. The god-like stillness of his Rinnegan was now shot through with something far more human—pure wrath.

The Six Paths of Pain advanced in unison, their combined presence swelling until it felt like the rain itself was being pushed aside. Each step forward was an unspoken sentence.

Konan's paper wings unfolded in a sharp whisper, scattering white slips into the air like shards of bone. She landed lightly between the two sides, her gaze locking on Jiraiya.

"Jiraiya-sensei…"

Her voice was flat, but the tremor underneath was unmistakable. "Do you intend to protect someone like Danzō?"

The words struck harder than a kunai.

Jiraiya's eyes softened with a pained recognition. He exhaled slowly, the weight of decades pressing down on him.

"…Konan… he's still a ninja of the Leaf."

It was all he could say without betraying something deeper.

He knew exactly what Danzō was—his methods, his ambitions, his poison in the veins of the village. But standing here, in another nation's soil, with Root shinobi behind him… he could not, as a Konoha ninja, stand aside and watch one of their own be executed on the spot.

Even the most poisonous branch was still part of the tree. And in war… some branches could not be allowed to break.

Konan's eyes dimmed at his answer, the storm within her deepening.

"The world is burning, Sensei. We all know it. And yet… men like him still spit on Yahiko's name as if it were dirt under their heel. Tell me—how much longer must we endure this kind of arrogance?"

The papers swirled tighter, a cyclone sharpening into thousands of edges.

"…Jiraiya-sensei."

The storm came down.

Rain and paper fell together, an execution disguised as weather.

Jiraiya's hands blurred into seals, his chest filling with air and chakra. A jet of scalding steam laced with flame erupted from his mouth, meeting the paper storm midair. The contact was violent—flames curling around the fluttering blades, steam bursting outward in white clouds.

He was fast. Precise. But each counter was pulled short of killing intent. His strikes sought to turn, to scorch, to scatter—but never to maim.

The rain made the battlefield feel smaller, as if every movement happened inside the same breath.

In that narrowing space, Jiraiya's eyes flicked sideways—to Kakashi.

A silent plea.

He hoped the younger man would take the same approach: restraint in the face of fury. Protect the village's assets without letting the clash spiral into an irreparable wound. After all, for all the venom between them, Akatsuki's strength might be vital when the real threat—the asteroid—arrived.

But Kakashi did not choose distance.

He moved.

In the instant a Root ninja was yanked off his feet by Banshō Ten'in, pulled toward the crushing blow of a Pain body, Kakashi's form blurred into view.

Mist swelled from nowhere, heavy and damp, muting the sound of the rain. A swirl of water condensed in his palm—a roiling, deadly sphere. With surgical precision, he slammed it between the Root operative and the incoming strike, diverting the fatal force.

When his boots touched down again, the injured man was behind him. Kakashi's blade whispered from its sheath, its edge glinting faintly in the stormlight.

Jiraiya stared. "Kakashi, you…"

Without turning, Kakashi's voice cut clean through the air.

"Jiraiya-sama… they're Leaf shinobi. Following orders. That's all."

The words were plain, but the meaning ran deep.

Not just an appeal for the innocent among the Root, but a warning: in defending the village, one could not pick and choose lives based on personal grudges.

They might have obeyed the wrong person, but they did not betray the Leaf Village.

A complex emotion arose in Jiraiya's heart.

Jiraiya said nothing, his throat tight.

Kakashi's choice was sharper than his own—less clouded by hesitation.

The realization settled in his chest: this was no longer the aloof prodigy of years past. This was a man who had learned when to cut… and when to shield.

A man who could carry the Will of Fire forward.

Hokage… perhaps, Kakashi is the one.

The rain poured endlessly, drowning the battlefield in a curtain of silver threads. Every droplet seemed to weigh heavier with each passing moment, pressing down on the combatants as if the heavens themselves wanted this fight to end in blood.

Kakashi's back was straight and unwavering, his figure cutting sharply through the storm. In the dim, shifting light, his presence stood out—unyielding, impossible to ignore.

Danzō's single eye shifted toward him, studying the Copy Ninja with a mixture of calculation and quiet suspicion. But before either could speak, the tense silence shattered.

With a sudden burst of speed, the Asura Path lunged forward—a blur of steel and shadow. Its movements were unnervingly mechanical, like a killing machine stripped of hesitation.

Danzō slipped to the side, his reaction surprisingly swift for a man of his age, dodging the strike with the fluid efficiency of a shinobi decades younger. The ground where he'd been standing cracked under the force of the blow.

At the same instant, Kakashi's Sharingan locked onto the attack's trajectory. Lightning erupted along the short blade in his grip, crackling violently in the rain.

The blade cut through the downpour in a single, blinding arc. The electric flash illuminated the Asura Path's grim visage as it was driven back, metal limbs jerking under the force.

The counterattack had been seamless—two shinobi moving without a word, yet perfectly aligned in their timing. For a moment, even the other Paths faltered, their advance slowed by the sudden disruption.

Danzō straightened, droplets sliding off the dark folds of his cloak. He didn't glance at the retreating Asura Path—instead, his single eye turned toward Kakashi, sharp and deliberate.

"I hear you've already crossed paths with the Nine-Tails Jinchūriki," Danzō said evenly, the rain swallowing the softer edges of his tone.

Kakashi said nothing. The question was loaded, and silence could be as dangerous as an answer. Still, his lack of reply was an answer in itself.

Danzō didn't push. His gaze drifted toward the distant clash where Jiraiya was carving through the storm like an unyielding force of nature.

"If you wish to become the light in the boy's heart… you must ensure you are the only light."

The words struck Kakashi harder than he expected, slipping past his guarded exterior like a kunai through a seam in armor.

He knew what Danzō was implying.

Jiraiya wasn't just a mentor to Naruto—he was a living anchor, a force that could shape the boy's ideals. If Naruto had Jiraiya… then Kakashi could never be the sole guiding flame.

It wasn't merely advice. It was a dangerous seed of division, meant to fester.

Kakashi's eye lowered, then narrowed. The only light…?

A faint, almost amused breath escaped him. "Light… do I even need it?"

When his gaze lifted again, the tomoe of his Sharingan rotated with a subtle, unnatural gleam. Power swelled behind his eye, sharper, clearer—different.

"Danzō-sama," Kakashi said with icy calm, "if you're trying to amuse yourself by slipping genjutsu past me, it's not working."

Danzō's brows twitched—the briefest flicker of surprise. The genjutsu he'd woven moments earlier had been perfect, subtle, undetectable to most… and yet Kakashi had broken it without effort.

That eye… it had always been a drain on him, an eternal burden. But now, his chakra flow was steady, his vision sharp. The Copy Ninja was no longer just holding the Sharingan—he was mastering it in a way Danzō had not anticipated.

A faint unease threaded through the old warhawk's thoughts. Something had changed in Kakashi.

What Kakashi didn't know was that Danzō too was no longer exactly the man he once was. Root's master had undergone his own… evolution.

They stared at each other for a heartbeat—rain falling, the world shrinking to the space between their eyes. Calm on the surface. Calculating underneath.

Then the moment broke.

The Six Paths of Pain advanced once more, their movements deliberate. Tendo Pain stepped forward, the gravity of the Rinnegan's gaze pressing down on the two like a physical weight.

The storm had only just begun.