"Do not go gentle into that good night. Rage, rage against the dying of the light."

— Dylan Thomas

--

For a heartbeat, the world was silent.

Hiruzen sat frozen in his chair, staring at the motionless form of his oldest comrade—his rival, his headache, his shadow. He had dreamed of silencing Danzo countless times over the years. But never—not once—had he imagined Hikari would actually do it.

She still held him by the collar, blood running down his face and dripping onto the floor. His eyes had rolled back, his body hanging limp in her grip like a ragdoll. She tilted his head side to side, almost playfully, even though he was unconscious.

"What was that, geezer? Didn't hear you. Must be those rotten ears again."

She gave a short laugh, shaking his head like a broken puppet. "Oh, did you faint? And you call yourself a council elder? Pathetic. Weak body, weak will."

Then she released him. His body crumpled sideways, collapsing onto the wooden floor with a dull thud.

Hikari wiped the blood off her hand onto her pants, then sat back down in her chair as if nothing had happened. She tilted her head, eyes locked on the unconscious man, a smirk tugging at her lips.

She turned, her smirk softening as her gaze landed on Hiruzen. "Old man, you should really install a lock on that door. Too many pests wandering in."

The silence was deafening.

Even the smoke from Hiruzen's pipe seemed to hesitate in the air,

Then Hiruzen exhaled through his nose, pinched the bridge of his nose, and muttered the only words he could muster:

"…Kami help me."

Then— 

"Danzo-sama!" 

The voices rang in unison—mechanical, empty.

The door burst open and a flood of Root shinobi poured inside, masks blank, movements precise. Eight of them fanned out instantly, weapons raised and gleaming in the office light. Two broke formation, rushing straight toward Danzo's bleeding, slumped form.

Hikari didn't move. She was still in her chair, one leg crossed over the other, ankle swinging lazily. Her expression, however—was no longer playful, no longer bratty. It was fury carved in stone.

And then it hit.

A wave of chakra, raw and suffocating, exploded out of her body like a storm breaking its dam. It wasn't just chakra—it was laced with killing intent so thick it felt solid, pressing against skin and bone. The temperature in the room seemed to drop, the air itself vibrating with invisible blades.

The Root shinobi froze. Their masks hid their faces, but their bodies betrayed them—muscles spasmed, knees buckled, hands trembled. They had been trained into emotionless shells, conditioned to fear nothing. And yet instinct—older than training—screamed at them that Death was here.

One by one, they dropped to their knees. Weapons clattered uselessly to the floor.

It was as if the god of death himself had taken human shape and was sitting, smirking, in Hiruzen's office.

Hiruzen's back was drenched in sweat—and the killing intent wasn't even directed at him. His pipe shook between his fingers. He tilted his head up slightly— and for a surreal second, it felt as if the ceiling itself might crack apart and fall.

And then it did. Fine lines snaked across the plaster. Dust rained down as the chakra pressure split the beams.

And Hikari? She just sat there. Swinging her ankle.

Just like Hashirama and Tobirama, Hiruzen thought grimly.

Outside, alarms began ringing. Every shinobi in the village felt it. ANBU scrambled, jonin paused mid-training. It was like a storm cloud of murder had descended over Konoha.

Inside, Hikari finally spoke.

Her voice wasn't loud. It didn't need to be. It was cold and sharp,

"Danzo…" 

His body jerked as consciousness returned—forced awake by her pressure. Blood streaked his face, his body trembling.

"I know it was you who leaked my information to the enemy. Don't bother denying it—I can smell a rat from a mile away." Her eyes glinted, cold and merciless. "Now, get out of here. If it weren't for this old man…" —her eyes narrowed, a cruel smirk tugging her lips—"…if I ever see your wrinkled face in front of me again, you'll pay a price you won't forget."

And just like that—the pressure vanished.

The suffocating air dissipated, the killing intent evaporated, and the room felt normal again. Too normal, as if the storm had never happened. The only proof was the sweat dripping from Hiruzen's brow, the cracked ceiling, and the trembling Root operatives scrambling to lift their master.

Danzo's eyes glared at Hikari even as his men dragged him away,

When the door closed behind them, Hiruzen finally spoke.

He didn't comment on the blood, the cracked ceiling, or the fact that one of his oldest "allies" had just been publicly humiliated. Instead, he exhaled a long plume of smoke, his eyes fixed on the cracks above as if the damage there was more fascinating than the chaos that had just unfolded.

I'll just do what I'm best at… I will ignore this shit, he thought.

Hikari, meanwhile, had already bounced back. Her scowl was gone, replaced by a bright, childlike grin.

"Oy, old man," she chirped, as if she hadn't just slammed the village's spymaster into a desk and nearly suffocated the entire village with killing intent. "Remember that weapon I asked for? Can you get it for me now? You know, since I came back from near-death and—oh yeah—I'm getting married. You can't possibly say no to me."

Hiruzen pinched the bridge of his nose. "Hikari…"

She leaned forward, putting on her best pout, eyes wide, lips trembling in mock desperation. "Pleaaase."

Hiruzen sighed, shaking his head. "Tch. You're impossible." He tapped ash from his pipe and gave her a weary glance. "Fine. Don't make that face in front of me. I'll have it made. Jiraiya already agreed to inscribe the seals. It'll be ready in a week."."

Her face lit up instantly. "Really? REALLY? Oh, old man, you're the best!"

Before he could dodge, she launched herself over the desk and hugged him so tightly his pipe nearly snapped in half.

Hiruzen grunted, patting her head. "Yeah, yeah… calm down. Now go. I still have work to do."

Hikari bounced back, still smiling.

--

(A/N)

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