Withered, twisted trees—like vengeful spirits writhing in the depths of hell—spread wildly around the Hokage Office Building.

In the blink of an eye, this entire area was sealed off, the dense lattice of dead wood forming a suffocating barrier that cut it off from all outside eyes.

Konoha's Anbu tried to advance, but the murderous trees responded faster than steel. Branches speared through armor and flesh alike, their agonized screams echoing as more bodies fell. Within moments, the perimeter had become a graveyard, a place so steeped in dread that no one dared take another step closer.

No outside aid could reach them now.

From the shadows, Root operatives began arriving in droves, summoned by the disturbance. At first, even they faltered at the sight of the grotesque wooden cage. But once they realized who stood within—Third Hokage, Hiruzen Sarutobi—many of their eyes shifted, full of unspoken conflict, before finally landing on the man they truly followed.

Danzo Shimura.

Only a brief hesitation lingered. Then, almost as one, they drifted behind him, silently declaring their allegiance.

Danzo's single visible eye swept over the Root like a blade of ice. His voice was cold, precise, without the faintest quiver of doubt."Hold the perimeter. No one enters. I will deal with this myself."

"Yes, Lord Danzo."

The Root scattered into their posts with military efficiency, their obedience absolute.

From the corner, Senju Tobirama's gaze turned toward Hiruzen, sharp as a kunai. The cold fire in his eyes was not rage, but something worse: disappointment.

Hiruzen lowered his head. His silence weighed heavier than words, his heart drowning in a tide of guilt and sorrow.

Then Danzo moved.

With a deliberate motion, he tore away the final restraints binding his body. A monstrous transformation unfolded—the flesh of his right arm, his shoulder, even part of his torso, bloomed with countless crimson Sharingan. They blinked open in unison, scarlet tomoe swirling, radiating a malignant pressure that seemed to press upon the soul itself.

Hiruzen's voice trembled, laden with grief.

"Danzo… what have you done?"

Danzo didn't answer. His heel struck the ground, and he exploded forward with terrifying speed, a withered wooden blade blooming in his hand. The first slash came like a bolt of death aimed straight at Tobirama.

Even Tobirama's seasoned instincts barely saved him. He vanished in a flash of the Flying Thunder God, reappearing only heartbeats away. But his sharp eyes caught it immediately—Danzo's blade hadn't been meant to kill him.

It was bait.

Danzo's true strike came a breath later, redirected mid-flow, lunging straight for Hiruzen.

Tobirama's heart tightened. "Damn! His target was never me… it was the monkey from the start!"

Hiruzen barely managed to raise his Adamantine Staff in time, blocking the blow. But the hesitation in his movements was undeniable. His eyes met Danzo's—one filled with unyielding resolve, the other clouded with doubt.

Hiruzen faltered. He staggered back, shoulders heavy, his fighting spirit already dimmed.

Danzo's eye gleamed sharply. He pressed forward, blade whipping down with merciless precision, straight toward Hiruzen's throat.

A flash—Tobirama reappeared again, intercepting the strike. The clash cracked the air, sparks flying.

Danzo's strategy was clear now.

He knew Tobirama's body was Edo Tensei, impervious to true death. Fighting him directly was pointless. So he poured his assault entirely into Hiruzen, forcing Tobirama to exhaust himself with endless defense. Each clash was a distraction, a stall, a chance to draw this battle out until the balance tipped.

And the plan worked, because Hiruzen himself was breaking. His Adamantine Staff moved without conviction, swings slow, clumsy—hesitation bleeding into every motion.

He could not bring himself to kill the comrade who had stood beside him for decades. Yet nor could he disobey Tobirama's command. This sentimental torment hollowed him, leaving his guard full of cracks, every defense weaker than the last.

"Damn it…" Tobirama's eyes narrowed like blades. His composure remained, but beneath it, a storm churned.

And then the thought struck him, sharp and cold as lightning.

How does Danzo know so clearly of Edo Tensei's immortality?

Who told him?

If it was Orochimaru… troublesome, but manageable.

But if Uchiha Gen himself had whispered this knowledge—

Tobirama's gut sank.

Then this wasn't just dangerous. It was catastrophic.

The imbalance of information, the hidden hand moving pieces from the dark—Tobirama could feel it. The real battle wasn't here in the roots of Konoha. It was in the unseen shadows far beyond.

Just as Tobirama was pondering, the withered wooden blade in Danzo's hand erupted once again with a malignant force…

The air itself seemed to recoil as the blade cleaved forward, its speed sharper, more vicious than before. Chakra and ocular power surged wildly through it, condensed into an almost suffocating pressure that bore down on Hiruzen Sarutobi's chest.

At this moment, Hiruzen did not even raise his Adamantine Staff. His hand trembled, the weapon dangling limply at his side. His eyes were heavy with resignation, fogged with guilt, with a despair that seemed older than the man himself.

To him, perhaps this was release.To end his life beneath Danzo's blade—a blade wielded by the comrade who had shared his burdens, his betrayals, and his compromises—felt almost like poetic justice.

Years of internal strife, endless concessions, and quiet failures had eroded his will. Hiruzen thought to himself: Maybe this is the punishment I deserve. Maybe this is what Konoha deserves for following me.

The crimson edge neared his chest—when suddenly, Danzo hesitated.

His strike slowed, the Sharingan gleaming ominously on his arm. His voice, however, was low and almost broken.

"Why, Hiruzen?"

The question cut sharper than the blade.

But Hiruzen gave no answer. His mind was adrift in memory—of children sent to die in wars, of his wife's Biwako's death during the nine tails incident, of countless moments when he had looked away. His silence was deafening.

Danzo's jaw tightened. A frustration unlike any other swelled within him—rage, sorrow, jealousy, disappointment all tangled together.

With a snarl, he tore the blade back and instead drove his fist into Hiruzen's chest. The blow thundered, sending the aging Hokage flying against a stone wall, dust exploding outward in a choking cloud.

"This punch," Danzo seethed, his voice low and trembling, "is everything you deserve. As Hokage—you are utterly unqualified!"

Hiruzen coughed blood, his frail frame trembling as he struggled upright. But instead of defiance, his eyes flickered with another image—Uzumaki naruto's sad face after being called a demon by the villagers, the unspoken sadness in those innocent blue pupils.

The Sharingan carved into Danzo's flesh burned into his vision.

Pain—sharp, unbearable—stabbed through his chest.

"Yes…" Hiruzen rasped, his tone mournful, almost whispering to himself. "I am not… a qualified Hokage."

The confession only fanned Danzo's fury. The Sharingan on his arm spun wildly, feeding on his emotions, whispering its hunger for blood.

"Don't you even want to resist, Hiruzen?" Danzo roared, his blade trembling with power.

The irony was cruel—Sharingan, a power born from love, now driven by Danzo's hatred and disappointment. The withered blade surged again with chakra, darker and sharper than before, lunging to pierce Hiruzen's heart.

But before it struck—

A surge of water burst upward, forming a blue curtain of living steel. The torrent hissed against Danzo's blade, halting its momentum in a shower of sparks and mist.

"Tobirama…" Hiruzen breathed.

The Second Hokage stood before him, fury etched across his features, his killing intent sharp enough to tear the air apart.

"Hiruzen! What are you doing?!" Tobirama's voice boomed like thunder, shaking his former student to his core.

"Sensei…" Hiruzen's voice cracked with guilt and grief. "I… I have failed."

"Monkey!" Tobirama snapped, whirling on him with eyes like steel. "How long will you keep running away? You are the Hokage—not for yourself, and not for Danzo. You carry the will of Konoha itself! Stand up!"

Hiruzen trembled. For the first time in years, his heart stirred beneath the crushing weight of his regrets.

Danzo's voice cut through the tension like a blade:

"Hiruzen… do you still remember your dream back then?"

The Sharingan in his palm spun faster, burning red like molten coals. His words dripped with scorn and sorrow alike:

"Wherever leaves dance, fire will burn. The shadow of the fire will illuminate the village, and then new leaves will bud again. That was your vow, wasn't it? To become the fire itself?"

Hiruzen's eyes widened. In his chest, that forgotten oath pulsed faintly—like an ember gasping for air.

And then—suddenly, the Sharingan image that haunted him vanished. One of Danzo's eyes on his body shut closed. In their place, an ominous, suffocating stillness descended.

The air turned heavy.

Something unseen had shifted.

A sense of foreboding spread through the wreckage, chilling to the bone.