The room was quiet, the only sound the crackling of the fire in the hearth. Hiruzen sat behind his desk, his hands resting on the polished wood, his eyes fixed on the door. He was tired, more tired than he had felt in years, and the weight of leadership pressed down on him like an old, familiar burden. He had spent decades protecting Konoha, guiding it through war and peace, but now the village was fracturing, and he could feel it slipping through his fingers. He took a slow breath, steadying himself, his gaze hardening as the door opened.

  Danzo entered, his cane tapping softly against the floor, his expression impassive. He moved to the centre of the room, stopping before Hiruzen’s desk, his single eye watching, waiting. Hiruzen studied him for a moment, searching for something—remorse, guilt, perhaps even fear. But there was nothing. Danzo’s face was a mask, unreadable as always.

  “You summoned me,” Danzo said, his voice even, polite. It grated on Hiruzen’s nerves, the false deference, the pretence.

  Hiruzen leaned forward, his eyes narrowing. “Yes, I did. I want you to explain to me why you have disregarded my orders.” His voice was quiet, but there was no mistaking the anger beneath the surface, the simmering frustration that had been building for days.

  Danzo tilted his head slightly, his gaze never wavering. “I did no such thing,” he said, his tone careful, measured.

  Hiruzen slammed his hand on the desk, the sound echoing through the room. “Don’t play games with me, Danzo,” he snapped. “The assassinations—the deaths. I told you, explicitly, that there would be no purges, no rash actions without definitive proof. And yet, here we are. People are dead, Danzo. By the dozens!”

  Danzo didn’t flinch, didn’t so much as blink. He stood there, his hands resting on his cane, his expression calm. “I had no hand in those deaths,” he said again, his voice steady.

  Hiruzen stared at him, the firelight flickering across his face, casting shadows across the lines of age and weariness. He wanted to believe him, wanted to trust that Danzo still had Konoha’s best interests at heart. But the evidence was there, undeniable. The tip-off had led to a list of names, and those names were now being crossed off, one by one.

  “Do you take me for a fool, Danzo?” Hiruzen said, his voice soft, almost weary. “Do you truly expect me to believe that you had no part in this? That these deaths were mere coincidence?”

  Danzo didn’t respond immediately, his gaze fixed on Hiruzen, his expression betraying nothing. For a moment, the room was silent, the tension thick, the air heavy with the unspoken accusations between them. And then, Danzo spoke, his voice almost casual.

  “Believe what you will, Hokage-sama. I have always acted in the best interests of this village. Everything I have done, I have done for Konoha.”

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  Hiruzen felt a surge of anger, his hands clenching into fists. He had heard these words before, the justifications, the excuses. He had allowed Danzo to operate as he saw fit, had given him leeway to do what needed to be done. But this—this was too far.

  He rose from his seat, his eyes locking on Danzo’s, his voice cold, unyielding. “You will cease all involvement in this matter. You will not take any further action, nor will you interfere in any way. Do I make myself clear?”

  Danzo inclined his head, the barest hint of anger finally leaking into his tone. “As you wish, Hokage-sama.”

  Hiruzen held his gaze, searching for any sign of defiance, any hint that Danzo would disregard his orders once more. But there was nothing. Danzo stood there, his face a mask once more, his thoughts hidden, unknowable.

  “Leave,” Hiruzen said, his voice barely more than a whisper. He watched as Danzo turned, his cane tapping softly against the floor as he made his way to the door. He paused for a moment, his hand on the handle, and then he was gone, the door closing behind him with a soft click.

  A stood at the head of the table, his massive frame casting a shadow over the worn surface. His hands were splayed flat, the fingers twitching slightly, an unconscious manifestation of his simmering frustration. The news from his recon team had not been good. Cloud's intelligence apparatus within the Leaf had been compromised, spies discovered, purged, and the rest spooked into hiding. And Konoha—Konoha, for all their talk of peace, seemed eager for a fight, seemingly daring Kumogakure to make the first move.

  He clenched his jaw, his eyes narrowing at the men and woman before him. Darui stood to his left as always, shoulders slumped, his gaze steady. C lingered by the door while Mabui stood in front of him, arms crossed in an annoyed glare.

  The ANBU team had delivered their report and departed, leaving A to digest the implications. It was clear now that Konoha was not the passive, diplomatic village they pretended to be. They had struck swiftly, decisively, and with a precision that suggested far more than mere happenstance. His spies had been rooted out, killed, their networks compromised. The message was clear.

  Darui shifted, breaking the silence. “Raikage-sama, perhaps we should reconsider our approach.” His voice was cautious, but firm. “If we act rashly, we might be playing directly into their hands.”

  A turned his head, his gaze locking onto Darui, his fingers curling against the wood of the table. “You think I don’t know that?” he snapped, his voice low, dangerous. “You think I don’t see what they’re doing? They want us to hesitate, to second-guess ourselves. They’re trying to make us look weak. Weak!”

  Darui didn’t flinch, but he held his ground, his eyes meeting A’s. “With respect, Raikage-sama, they’re trying to bait us. If we overplay our hand now, we risk giving them exactly what they want. We can’t afford to make the first move without knowing more first.”

  A grunted, his eyes shifting to C, who nodded in agreement, his expression serious. “Darui’s right,” C said quietly. “We’ve lost a lot of assets. We don’t know how deep the damage goes. If we act now…”

  A turned away, his gaze falling on Mabui. She stood there, silent, her eyes meeting his, the tension evident in her posture. She didn’t say anything, but her silence spoke volumes. They were urging caution, all of them, pleading with him not to rush into this, not to make a mistake that could cost them dearly.

  The Raikage took a deep breath, steadying himself, the air in the room thick with tension.

  "Those pests," he said, the words dripping with contempt, his anger held just in check, but evident in every syllable.