Senju Tobirama stood in the Hokage's Office, his sharp gaze fixed on the moonlit village below. The quiet hum of Konoha at night contrasted sharply with the storm of calculations turning in his mind.

For a long while, he said nothing—his silence heavier than any reprimand.

He was perfectly aware of his current state. This body of his was nothing more than a vessel forged by Edo Tensei—an imitation of life, not life itself. Though fragments of his formidable strength remained, his existence was a shadow of the past. He could not, and should not, step into the sun as Hokage again.

To attempt to lead Konoha directly would only invite suspicion, chaos, and political fracture across the entire Shinobi World.

What Konoha required was a figure rooted in legitimacy—a leader who could stand in the open, command loyalty, and serve as the rallying banner for both ninja and civilians alike.

A Hokage he could shape, guide… and, if necessary, control.

For the moment, that person was Hiruzen Sarutobi. His shortcomings were glaring—hesitancy, overreliance on compromise, sentiment clouding his judgment—but his authority was intact. To the people of Konoha, he remained the Hokage. His presence alone could keep the village from splintering in times of panic.

But Tobirama's eyes, cold and calculating, turned briefly to the future. In truth, the long-term stability of Konoha might one day rest on only one candidate: Tsunade. A Senju by blood, a powerhouse by strength, and—if properly tempered—capable of unifying even the most fractured factions.

His plan was forming, swift and uncompromising.

The Shinobi World teetered on the edge of calamity. The countdown had already begun, and indecision would be fatal. Every available resource—from Konoha's ninja corps, to the Fire Country's civilian networks, even to the coffers of the Daimyō's palace—had to be brought under immediate, unshakable control.

If necessary, he would use the iron hand.

At last, Tobirama turned, his shadow stretching long across the office as his eyes fixed on the aged Hokage bent over his papers. His voice was cold, solemn, and commanding—more an order than advice:

"Hiruzen, the Shinobi World stands at the edge of annihilation. As Hokage, hesitation is no longer a luxury you can afford. You must act."

He paused, then leaned forward slightly, every word carrying the weight of inevitability.

"Within the next two days, the entire Land of Fire must hear your voice—the voice of their Hokage. And that includes the Daimyō's palace. Bring them under control before they become a liability."

At this, Hiruzen froze. His eyes widened, disbelief flickering across his face.

"The Daimyō?" he muttered, almost to himself. He had expected calls for mobilization, perhaps harsher security measures… but this—this was different.

The suggestion struck at the very foundations of the Shinobi-Daimyō relationship. To control the Daimyō was to upend the balance between shinobi and sovereign. His teacher, the man who had once stressed order, law, and discipline above all, was now advocating something… dangerous.

"Sensei, you can't mean—"

But Tobirama cut him off with a sharp glance, his words biting and uncompromising.

"Hiruzen. You've already squandered precious time. The world will not wait for your debates and doubts. If you continue to stall, the Daimyō will drag their feet, the civilians will panic, and Konoha will collapse from within before the enemy even lifts a blade."

He turned to the window, staring once more at the village lights below. His voice lowered, but the edge in it could cut steel.

"Show me your decisiveness, Sarutobi. Or I will find another who can."

The Third Hokage's breath caught in his chest. His hand trembled ever so slightly, resting atop the unfinished documents on his desk. In that moment, he understood: the choices he made from here on would decide not just the fate of Konoha, but the fate of the entire Shinobi World.

He bowed his head.

"…I understand, Sensei."

On the long road back from the Hidden Rain Village, silence clung to the air like a second skin.

Kakashi and Danzō walked side by side, their footsteps dull and hollow against the wet ground. The storm had passed, but the rain-soaked earth still breathed out mist, making the air heavy and damp. Neither spoke, though each carried the same burden of thoughts—the fierce battle they had just endured still lingered in their minds like an unresolved shadow.

Finally, Danzō's gravelly voice broke through the quiet.

"Kakashi..."

It was low, hoarse, edged with fatigue, yet steadier than usual. For a man like Danzō, even this calmness felt foreign.

"During the battle... did you also sense it? The emotional fluctuations of the Rinnegan user?"

Kakashi's steps faltered slightly. His mind replayed the clash—blades striking, ninjutsu colliding, the overwhelming pressure of the Six Paths of Pain. And there, hidden beneath the onslaught, he had felt something strange: a muted, suppressed current of emotion, as if carried directly into his own spirit.

After a pause, he answered softly, "It seemed... yes, I felt something."

Danzō nodded once, his eye fixed on the road ahead. His tone dropped into something between a statement and a muttered thought. "Perhaps there truly is a link between the three great dōjutsu... Sharingan, Byakugan, and Rinnegan. If they can all brush against the emotions of others... then maybe one day they could truly understand one another."

Kakashi raised his head at that. Understand each other...

Was this what he and Obito had once shared? Was reconciliation hidden in that idea? Or was it only another illusion, a hope too fragile to survive reality?

Deep down, Kakashi knew the truth—his current strength wasn't enough. Against the Rinnegan, he was still a shadow behind the light. If he wanted to truly stand against it... he would have to become stronger. Much stronger.

Silence reclaimed them, wordless but heavy, until Danzō's eye swept across the group. His Root operatives instantly responded, hands forming seals in unison. In the next breath, the Reverse Summoning Jutsu enveloped them, dragging their forms through space.

For Danzō, the shift was not smooth. A sudden and inexplicable unease twisted in his chest as his body reappeared in the shadows of the Root's underground base. His feet touched the stone floor, but the sense of foreboding only deepened.

"Hmph?"

His brows drew tight. Something was wrong. The air itself carried a foreign weight—an aura that did not belong to Root.

At once, the Sharingan within him stirred, spinning rapidly as it swept across the cavernous halls. His senses sharpened until his gaze froze on the faintest residue of chakra etched into the ground.

His expression darkened. "...Orochimaru."

The name left his lips like a curse, heavy with restrained fury. "So... you've been busy while I was away."

Before his thoughts could stretch further, a figure appeared, kneeling swiftly before him.

"Lord Danzō," the masked Anbu intoned, voice respectful yet devoid of warmth. "The Hokage summons you to his office immediately. He has urgent matters to discuss."

Hiruzen.

The name echoed coldly in Danzō's mind. Why now, of all times? What game was the so-called Professor playing?

But outwardly, his face betrayed nothing. With a faint motion of his hand, he signaled compliance. "Lead the way."

Together, they left the base behind. Danzō's steps were slow, deliberate, the dimly lit corridors echoing faintly with each strike of his cane. Yet his mind was elsewhere, turning over the faint chakra traces Orochimaru had left. Such a man would never plant evidence without intent. No, there was a deeper scheme hidden in those whispers of power.

When they finally emerged into the surface world, the looming silhouette of the Hokage's office awaited. The lanterns burned brightly, but to Danzō, even that glow seemed unable to chase away the shadows that pressed against his heart.

His footsteps rang sharp and hollow through the empty corridor as he entered.

Inside, Hiruzen Sarutobi sat behind his desk, posture rigid, face carved in solemn lines. The Third Hokage did not look surprised. If anything, he appeared to have been waiting. His steady gaze rose to meet Danzō's as the man pushed the door open and stepped inside.

"Hiruzen," Danzō's voice cut through the silence, low and deliberate. "You called for me."

The room stilled, the air itself taut with a strangeness that words alone could not carry.