The Hokage's office did not smell like power. It smelled of dust, drying ink, and the slow, suffocating decay of bureaucracy.
The late afternoon sun sliced through the blinds in thick, hazy beams, illuminating the floating particulate matter that hung in the stagnant air. It was 5:00 PM, but the meeting felt like it had been going on since the founding of the village.
Tsunade Senju sat behind the massive oak desk, her fingers drumming a jagged, impatient rhythm against the wood.
Tap-tap-thud.
Across from her, the Council sat like three stones in a Zen garden of misery.
Homura Mitokado and Koharu Utatane were perched on the guest chairs, their posture rigid with decades of self-righteousness. Danzō Shimura stood near the window, his back to the light, leaning heavily on his cane.
"We have an obligation," Tsunade said, her voice tight. She wasn't shouting, but the vibration of her tone rattled the tea cups on the tray Shizune was holding. "He is a Konoha shinobi. He is a citizen. We do not abandon our own just because they have a bad day."
"A bad day?" Homura adjusted his glasses, the light reflecting off the lenses to hide his eyes. "He severed ties with his team. He attacked a comrade with lethal intent. He crossed the border."
"He was coerced," Tsunade countered, leaning forward. The leather of her chair creaked—er-reeek—under the shift in weight. "Orochimaru's influence is a biological contaminant. You don't execute a patient for catching a virus."
"He chose to leave," Koharu interjected, her voice thin and sharp like a paper cut. "Of his own free will. The reports from the hospital roof are clear. The boy is unstable. He seeks power, not protection."
"He is twelve!" Tsunade slammed her hand onto the desk. A stack of requisition forms jumped. "He has no parents. No clan. His brother tortured him mentally for twenty-four hours. Who was supposed to guide him? You? Me?"
She pointed a finger at the elders.
"We failed him. The village failed him. We owe him a retrieval, not a kill order."
Danzō turned.
The movement was slow, deliberate. His single visible eye was cold, a void that absorbed the warmth of the sunset.
"This is a village of shinobi, Princess," Danzō rasped. His voice sounded like dry leaves skittering over concrete. "Find me a child who has yet to see blood stain the battlefield, and I will find the Uchiha boy myself."
He lifted his cane and brought it down.
THOK.
The sound was singular and final, echoing off the wood paneling like a gavel.
"Innocence is a resource we spent years ago," Danzō stated. "He is a rogue asset. A liability."
"His age does not exempt him from the consequences of his actions," Koharu added, squinting. "If anything, his bloodline makes the defection a Class-S security breach. We cannot allow the Sharingan to fall into the Sound's hands. If he cannot be retrieved..."
She didn't finish the sentence. She didn't have to.
Tsunade gritted her teeth. The frustration was a physical heat rising in her chest, a pressure building behind her eyes. They were talking about a boy—Sasuke—like he was a malfunctioning kunai.
"I am the Hokage," Tsunade growled. "And I say we—"
She snatched a form from the stack to emphasize her point.
Zip.
The edge of the stiff, high-grade parchment sliced across the pad of her index finger.
It was a tiny wound. Insignificant.
But then, the bead appeared.
A single, perfect sphere of bright crimson blood welled up from the cut.
Tsunade froze.
The office vanished. The smell of dust and ink was instantly replaced by the sharp, metallic tang of copper and the overwhelming stench of ozone.
Flash.
White light. Ruptured organs. Dan's chest cavity open to the air. The sticky, cooling sensation of life leaking out over her hands.
Her heart stopped. The world tilted on its axis. Her breath hitched in her throat, strangled by a sudden, crushing vacuum.
Panic.
Her chakra system flared—a violent, involuntary spasm of survival instinct. It rushed to her hands, erratic and boiling.
POOF.
A massive cloud of white smoke exploded in the center of the room, displacing the air with a violent whump.
"Cough! Cough!" Homura hacked, waving his hand.
"Are we under attack?!" Koharu shrieked, standing up so fast her chair tipped over with a clatter.
"Where is the ANBU?!"
The smoke smelled of sulfur and swamp muck—a dense, humid odor that choked the sterile atmosphere of the office.
"TSUNADEEEEEE~!"
A high-pitched, vibrating voice squealed from the center of the cloud.
Danzō didn't cough. He simply frowned. He raised his cane and swung it horizontally. A sharp burst of Wind Style chakra—whoosh—cleared the room instantly, slamming the smoke against the far walls.
"I believe this meeting is adjourned," Danzō said dryly.
He tapped his cane again—thok—and turned to the door, ignoring the chaos.
Papers were swirling around the room like a blizzard. In the center of the desk, sitting directly on top of the mission roster, was a slug.
But it wasn't the massive, majestic Katsuyu. It was a fragment. A tiny, blue-and-white blob the size of a cat, vibrating with manic energy.
"Why..." Tsunade whimpered, clutching her hand to her chest, the adrenaline crash leaving her trembling.
"MOMMY SAID! MOMMY SAID!"
The slug—Tsuyuyu—bounced.
Sploing-squelch.
She landed on a stack of Jōnin evaluations. The slime on her underside acted like industrial glue. When she bounced again, three files came with her, stuck fast to her belly.
"Ugh," Tsunade groaned, reaching out to peel a document off the slug. The paper tore, leaving a layer of ink and pulp on the creature's skin. "The ink is sticking to you too."
"I AM THE LAW DESU~!" Tsuyuyu chirped, wiggling her eye-stalks.
Tsunade blinked, her vision clearing as the panic receded. She noticed something strapped to the slug's back.
It was a scroll case. Hard leather, sealed with wax and a distinct, familiar chakra signature.
Tsunade buried her face in her palms. The headache was back, throbbing behind her eyes like a drum.
"Shizune," Tsunade mumbled through her hands.
"Y-Yes, Lady Tsunade!" Shizune was clutching Tonton, who was oinking in alarm at the slug.
"Please get the kids," Tsunade ordered, her voice muffled. "Get Naruto. Get the girl. This thing belongs to her."
She looked up, eyeing the cabinet in the corner.
"And bring me a bottle."
Shizune bowed slightly, turning to leave, then paused at the door. "Uhm... pain killers or alcohol?"
Tsuyuyu prepared to launch herself off the desk again, aiming for the chandelier. Tsunade's hand shot out, grabbing the slug by the tail-end to anchor her.
Squelch.
"Dealer's choice," Tsunade sighed.
Shizune fled the room.
The Elders had already retreated, muttering about "instability" and "unprofessional conduct." Danzō was gone.
Tsunade was alone with the slug.
She reached out and unbuckled the leather strap from Tsuyuyu's back.
The case was slick, coated in a fine, protective film of mucus that made it cool to the touch. It smelled of deep, subterranean aquifers and ancient, medicinal moss—the scent of the Shikkotsu Forest.
She held it in her hand, feeling the damp weight of it.
Jiraiya.
The thought intruded unbidden. The chaos, the accidental blood triggers, the sheer recklessness of summoning a creature into a government office—it had the Toad Sage's fingerprints all over it. He was out there, teaching the brat bad habits, while she was stuck here cleaning up the slime.
But this payload wasn't from him.
"You rarely send mail, Katsuyu," she whispered to the empty room, eyeing the acid-etched glyph on the wax. "So why now?"
Tsuyuyu wiggled, a piece of confidential paperwork stuck to her forehead.
"MOMMY IS GONNA BE MAD!"
Tsunade wiped the residue from the scroll case onto her pants, the slime leaving a faint, shimmering trail on the fabric, before jamming her thumb under the lid.
"Yeah," Tsunade agreed.
She twisted the cap, breaking the suction seal with a wet shhh-luck sound.
"She can join the club."