The morning was crisp, the sky a pale, indifferent blue as Tatsuya made his way through the winding streets of Konoha. The village seemed unchanged, yet there was something different in the air—an undercurrent that lingered in the alleys and markets, subtle and pervasive. The Uchiha mutiny had started a month ago—Kumo's threats of war mere days after—and already, the village had begun to fray at the edges.

  He moved with purpose, though without urgency, his hands buried deep in his pockets. A woman brushed past him, her eyes darting nervously about. Tatsuya kept his head down, avoiding eye contact, moving from one street to the next. There were murmurs, the kind that slipped through the cracks of the usual noise, voices tapering off when his shadow fell near. Some spoke of the unfairness of the Uchiha's fate. Some ridiculed the clan for their actions—cowardice, one man claimed. Others spoke nervously of a possible Uchiha coup that would see the death of thousands, spreading fear with an almost palpably malicious intent. No one moved to stop them, however. A shopkeeper's eyes darted away as an Uchiha clanswoman came into view. A mother's hand tightened around her child's as the kunoichi passed.

  Tatsuya turned a corner into the market square, where merchants called out their wares, their voices lacking their usual vibrancy. There was a stiffness to their movements, eyes glancing over shoulders, brief pauses in their rhythm whenever someone dressed in a high-collar came into view. He stopped at a fruit stall, picking up an apple, turning it over in his hand. The vendor watched him, her gaze unreadable. Tatsuya smiled politely, reaching for his coin pouch.

  "How much?"

  The vendor hesitated. "Five ryō," she said, the words clipped, almost mechanical. Tatsuya handed over the coins, her eyes lingering on his hand a moment too long before she looked away, the transaction hanging awkwardly in the charged silence.

  He paid, nodding his thanks, but her eyes stayed on him as he turned away, the weight of her gaze following him through the market. He took a bite of the apple, the crunch breaking the silence in his head, a distraction from the murmurs that never seemed to stop.

  Uchiha.

  Uchiha.

  Uchiha.

  Voices dropped to a murmur whenever the name was mentioned, as if even saying it aloud carried risk. Perhaps it did.

  Itachi hadn’t joined them for missions since the strike began. His absence was palpable. Kaede had taken to speaking more than usual, her voice louder, her actions more pronounced. She was unsure how to feel in his absence, Tatsuya suspected. He knew she hated the boy's guts. He also knew she admired him, almost fanatically, in equal measure. Itachi had been the steady presence, her yardstick for excellence, the calm that kept her in line, and now, without him, everything about her felt slightly off-kilter. Uncalibrated. A less perceptive person would have assumed she was in love with how much this affected her.

  Tatsuya wandered towards the training grounds, the apple now just a core. The sky overhead had grown darker, clouds gathering in the distance. He could see Kaede already there, her form silhouetted against the dull light, her katana cutting through the air in measured arcs. She was focused, her brow furrowed, her mouth set in a thin line of concentration.

  "You’re late," she called as he approached, not looking up from her practice.

  "Wasn’t aware we were on a schedule," Tatsuya replied, tossing the apple core aside, watching as it rolled into the grass.

  Kaede snorted, finally pausing to look at him. "You’re always late," she muttered, but there was no real bite in her words. Surprising. She seemed tired, her eyes lacking their usual fire. She gestured towards the targets set up at the far end of the training ground. "We’ve to practise. Yuna-sensei will be here soon."

  Tatsuya nodded, as if in acknowledgement, moving past her, his gaze drifting towards the village beyond the training grounds. He could see the rooftops, the distant figures moving between them, the hustle and bustle of life that continued even as uncertainty grew. Beyond these rooftops was a great expanse of trees. The Uchiha compound lay somewhere beyond even this, its walls high and imposing, cutting off the clan from the rest of the village. He wondered what it was like inside—whether they felt the isolation as keenly as those on the outside were starting to experience.

  "Tatsuya!" Kaede’s voice snapped him back to the present. She was glaring at him, her katana lowered, her stance tense. "Focus. We need to practise."

  He sighed, rolling his shoulders, only to ignore her again. He found a comfortable tree to lean against and sat down.

  Kaede fell into her drills, the routine familiar, probably comforting in its monotony. Tatsuya watched her out of the corner of his eye, noting the way her hands shook slightly, the frustration etched across her face.

  She stopped a few minutes later, sheathing her katana, her eyes fixed on the ground, her expression unreadable. Tatsuya looked away then, his gaze returning to the village, to the distant rooftops and the dark clouds gathering above them.

  Something dark was brewing in these lands.

  Danzo sat in his dimly lit office, the faint light filtering through the half-drawn curtains, casting bars of shadow across the walls. He leaned back in his chair, fingers steepled, his eyes narrowed at the collection of reports spread out before him. The assassinations had been surgical, precise, a chain of killings that had torn through the network of spies embedded in Konoha's very heart. Dozens dead, removed from their posts in a matter of days—each one a thread in a web that had taken decades to weave.

  You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.

  The silence in the room was heavy, the only sound the soft rustle of paper as Danzo sifted through the reports again. He knew the workings of his own hand well enough, knew the methods that ANBU and ROOT employed, and these killings bore none of those marks. No, this had been something else, something different. Something deliberate in its coldness, almost personal in its reach.

  He let out a breath, his lips tightening into a thin line. He suspected the Uchiha. It was the only explanation that fit, but the pieces still did not make sense. The Uchiha—who else had the motivation? Hiruzen's endless indulgence, his hesitance to act, had given the clan the room to manoeuvre. Perhaps too much room. Yet the question remained—how had they known? How had they identified spies whose existence had eluded even ANBU and ROOT?

  Danzo's gaze drifted to the window, where he could see a sliver of the village beyond, the rooftops huddled together beneath the pale morning sky. He could almost feel it—the sense that something was shifting beneath the surface, the way a current shifts before a storm. The Uchiha were up to something, and the assassinations were only a symptom of a larger game being played. He could see the patterns, the ripples that moved through the village, but the source remained hidden, obscured by shadow.

  Yakumi Uchiha. The name had come up more than once, whispered among his agents, a name that seemed to sit at the centre of whatever was unfolding within the Uchiha Police Station. But there was no substance, no clear information—just fragments, rumours that led to nothing but more questions. Yakumi was not a name that had been of any particular interest before. He was not the clan head, not even a prominent figure by most accounts. So why now? What had changed?

  Danzo's fingers tapped against the arm of his chair, the rhythm slow, deliberate, the only outward sign of his impatience. He needed answers, and he needed them quickly.

  He rose from his chair, the reports left abandoned on the desk as he moved towards the door. His footsteps were soft, muffled by the thick rug that covered the floor. He paused at the threshold, his gaze flickering to the shadows that lingered in the corners of the room. He could not afford to be complacent. The Uchiha had proven that much with their recent actions. They had taken a step into his world, into the darkness where he operated, and that could not go unanswered.

  Danzo turned, his expression hardening, his thoughts already moving to the next step. Nonō Yakushi. She was one of his best—a ghost within the village, her presence unnoticed, competent. If anyone could pierce the iron veil that surrounded the Uchiha, it was her. She would find out what Yakumi was doing, what the Uchiha were planning. And if she could not, then they would take another approach. There were always other ways, other means to uncover the truth.

  He stepped out of the room, his footsteps echoing softly in the hallway beyond. The decision had been made. He would not let this challenge go unanswered, would not allow the Uchiha to think they could act with impunity. The assassinations had been a message, and now it was his turn to respond.

  Danzo moved through the corridors of the underground facility, the air cool and damp, the flickering torches casting long shadows on the stone walls. He found Nonō in her quarters, her eyes lifting from the documents she was studying as he entered. She rose immediately, her expression calm, her eyes attentive.

  “Danzo-sama,” she said, bowing her head slightly, her voice quiet.

  “Nonō,” Danzo began, his tone measured, “there is a matter that requires your particular expertise. I need to know what the Uchiha are doing. Locate Yakumi Uchiha—he is a person of interest. Find out what he knows, what they are planning. Be discreet. We need clarity, not suspicion.”

  Nonō nodded, her gaze steady. “Consider it done, Danzo-sama. I will begin immediately.”

  Danzo watched her for a moment. He knew the risks. Hiruzen would be wroth if he found out. But he could not afford to wait, to allow the Uchiha the time to strengthen their position. He needed to act, and he needed to act now.

  “Good,” he said finally, his voice low. “Report your findings directly to me. No one else. We cannot afford any leaks. Understood?”

  "Of course, Danzo-sama."

  “You expect me to stay silent after this?!” A roared, his voice echoing off the walls like a thunderclap. The light from the open windows threw shadows across his face, accentuating the lines of his anger. His fury was palpable, raw, barely restrained. All present exchanged uneasy glances, none daring to meet his gaze.

  One Jonin, a thin man with wire-rimmed glasses, cleared his throat nervously. “Raikage-sama, please calm yourself. We must consider our position carefully.”

  “Consider our position?!” The Raikage’s voice exploded, his fists slamming down on the table, rattling the scattered reports. “To hell with our position! Those bastards think they can mess with us and you want me to sit here and do nothing?” “They’ve done it again. They’ve made a mockery of us. And you want me to consider our position?” He pushed back from the table, the legs of his chair scraping harshly against the floor. He began to pace, his movements sharp, his presence filling the room like a storm cloud ready to burst.

  “They think they can undermine us?!” he bellowed, rage bubbling in his chest. “They think they can bleed us dry, one attack at a time, and we’ll just take it? I'll be damned if I let this pass unanswered. No more games. no more!” He turned, his gaze locking onto one shinobi in attendance, his eyes alight with fury. “Double the fucking patrols along the border! I want every inch of that line covered—if a damn leaf moves, I want to know about it before it even thinks of falling!”

  The ANBU nodded, though their body language remained tense. Another Shinobi, an older man with a scar running down his cheek, spoke up, his voice cautious. “Raikage-sama, retaliation at this stage without knowing what we are walking into might be unwise.”

  The Raikage paused, his jaw tightening, his hands curling into fists at his sides. Darui and C remained silent at the edge of the office, the pair having long given up on convincing him. Mabui sat at his desk, still reviewing the multitude of reports that came in, her expression grim. A could feel the weight of their words, the caution in their voices. But the anger burned too hot, the humiliation too raw to ignore.

  “I’ve heard enough of your spineless caution!” he spat, his eyes blazing. “We're going to hit them, and hit them hard. No declarations, no formal bullshit. We're going to make them bleed, and they won’t even see it coming.” He turned to the still kneeling ANBU, his eyes narrowing. “Assemble a platoon. I want bodies dropping. It doesn't matter where. It just has to hurt. Make them choke on every damn inch they thought they could take from us.”

  The room fell silent once more. The Raikage took a deep breath, his chest rising and falling as he tried to steady himself. He knew the risks, knew that this was exactly what Konoha might be hoping for—a reckless response. But he could not, would not, let them believe they had the upper hand.