"Edo Tensei… is it?"

A ripple of cold chakra spread outward, coiling through the chamber like mist. The dust in the air settled, revealing a face carved in steel—calm, sharp, and utterly without fear.

Senju Tobirama opened his eyes. The deep, unblinking gaze scanned the chamber with precision, reading every shift of light, every breath of movement.

He lowered his gaze to his own hands, flexing the unfamiliar, earthen skin. There was no shock—only the faint confirmation of something long anticipated.

From the moment he created Edo Tensei, Tobirama had known it was a blade with no sheath—destined to be stolen, abused. He had simply not expected that he himself would one day stand among the bound.

And yet… death had not dulled him. Power still coursed through this vessel—dust and chakra fused into something perilously close to his prime strength. Even that fact, unexpected as it was, barely flickered across his face before he mastered it.

"This is… Konoha, isn't it?"

His voice was level, almost casual, but his senses swept far beyond the walls. The chakra signatures in range were strange—familiar yet altered, like echoes from a distorted mirror.

"Lord Tobirama."

The voice was hoarse, smooth, and steeped in an unsettling calm. From the shadows, a tall figure emerged.

"I am Orochimaru," he said, his tone politely measured. "Disciple of Hiruzen Sarutobi."

The name—and the implied link to the Hokage line—drew a brief flicker in Tobirama's gaze. He gave a single, slow nod, acknowledging but not indulging.

"The Uchiha Clan," Orochimaru continued without preamble, "no longer exists."

The Second Hokage's head snapped up, and in that instant, the temperature in the room seemed to drop."Oh?" The single syllable carried both surprise and frost. "Exterminated? Explain."

Orochimaru's smile deepened by a fraction, though his eyes remained unreadable. "You may have noticed," he said softly, "that I have placed almost no restraints on you."

Tobirama's frown was slight, but telling. "Then the aftermath of this massacre… must be far worse than the act itself."

"Yes," Orochimaru said. "The chain reaction has destabilized the entire shinobi world. Conflict brews on every front. The Akatsuki have moved openly. A man in a mask manipulates the shadows. And at the center of it all—Uchiha Gen. His Mangekyō Sharingan carries an ability unlike anything documented before. A mental corruption… spreading through the Sharingan itself."

As Orochimaru spoke, Tobirama listened in absolute stillness. Piece by piece, he absorbed the account—the night of blood in Konoha, Uchiha Gen's awakening, the creeping 'curse' infecting both mind and will, the masked man's maneuvers, the Five Great Nations drawn into the undertow.

When Orochimaru finished, Tobirama's eyes had gone cold as ice over steel. "Absurd," he said flatly, though the restrained fury in his voice carried the weight of a thunderclap. "Hiruzen. Danzo. Utterly absurd."

His tone cut with contempt. "The Uchiha… yes, their emotions run dark, their hearts quick to fracture—but they were also weapons. Konoha's most dangerous blade. To shatter the blade rather than wield it… incompetence."

His gaze sharpened, cutting to the heart of Orochimaru's report. "As for this Uchiha Gen—and the fool who calls himself Madara—it is likely the latter dances on the strings of the former. Not direct control… but guided thought. A subtlety I have not seen in Mangekyō before."

"It is more than subtlety," Orochimaru replied. "If my deductions are correct, the Sharingan itself is the vector. A medium for influence. Danzo, with his collection of eyes, is already… compromised."

Tobirama's lips thinned into something almost like a smirk, though it carried no humor. "An idiot's ambition—to control the world with Uchiha power—and now he has become nothing more than an amplifier for it."

He began to pace, voice low but edged with lethal clarity. "If Gen needs a network of eyes to extend his reach… then Danzo's hoard is the perfect broadcasting tower. Remove him, and the signal weakens."

His decision crystallized instantly. "Danzo must be dealt with. Hiruzen is unfit to remain Hokage. The longer both stand, the deeper this infection spreads."

He turned back to Orochimaru, his voice calm but carrying the force of command. "You will return to the masked man's side. Monitor Uchiha Gen. Discover the limits of this corruption—and the source of his power. Every weakness. Every tether. And when the moment comes… we will act."

The authority in his words was absolute, his tone as final as a death sentence.

Orochimaru bowed slightly, the eerie smile still curling at his lips. "As you wish… Lord Tobirama."

After dismissing Orochimaru with a single glance, Senju Tobirama's fingers blurred into practiced seals.In an instant, the air around him warped with the sharp crack of space being torn apart.

Flying Thunder God.

A faint shimmer and he was gone.

Inside the Hokage's office, the stillness of night reigned.Stacks of mission reports and administrative documents were piled high across the desk, illuminated only by the weary glow of a single oil lamp.

Bent over the paperwork was Hiruzen Sarutobi. His hand moved slowly, quill dragging across the page with the heaviness of someone who had long forgotten the meaning of rest. The silence was broken only by the scratch of ink and the occasional sigh.

Then—without warning—a ripple distorted the air behind him. A figure emerged soundlessly, silver hair gleaming faintly in the lamplight.

Senju Tobirama.

His presence alone was suffocating, cold and sharp, like steel pressed to the back of one's neck. He stood motionless, studying the slouched back of the man at the desk. His lips pressed into a thin line, his eyes carrying both judgment and restrained fury.

The words tore from him, heavy with years of buried disappointment.

"Monkey…"

That single word—familiar, yet edged with scorn—made Hiruzen freeze.

The quill slipped from his fingers. Slowly, almost unwillingly, he turned his head.

And there he was. His teacher. His Hokage. His ghost.

Hiruzen's breath caught, disbelief flooding his face as his eyes widened. The papers in his hand slipped loose, fluttering to the desk in disarray.

"T-Tobirama-sensei…?"

The voice was hoarse, caught between awe and fear.

It was impossible. Unthinkable. And yet the silver-haired man stood there, his piercing gaze boring into him, alive—or something close enough.

Hiruzen Sarutobi truly lived long enough to see a ghost.