Nara Shikaku's words fell like a stone into still water, and at once the mood in the room grew heavy.
For a time, no one spoke. The spacious conference room sank into a silence so complete it seemed to press against the walls.
Because everyone understood—this was no alarmist speculation. It was a future already set in motion, waiting only to arrive.
Objectively speaking, Shikaku's strength was not particularly outstanding among the jōnin, yet his voice carried a weight few could rival. That authority did not come merely from the legacy of his father, who had once led all of Konoha's jōnin as their commander, but from something more intrinsic: the keen intellect of the Nara clan itself. To wield their hereditary shadow techniques demanded not only skill, but a mind of exceptional clarity and precision.
Thus, from the very beginning of the Third Great Ninja War, Shikaku had been elevated by Konoha's leadership and granted a place in the councils of the Land of Fire. The Third Hokage held him in the highest regard, believing him to have inherited his father's brilliance.
To those gathered here, he was more than a comrade—he was their strategist.
And that strategist had just made one thing unmistakably clear:
Sunagakure would attack Kikyo Castle.
Tsunade rested her chin lightly on her hands, her gaze steady as she regarded him. "Then tell me, Shikaku—what are they waiting for?"
Shikaku did not answer at once. When he did, his tone was measured, but edged with quiet unease. "We assume they're waiting… but I suspect that, beyond what we can see, they may already be in motion."
"Even if that's true," Tsunade countered, her voice firm, "we've chosen not to engage and are holding Kikyo Castle at all costs. What can they possibly do against that?"
After all, Konoha's defenses had been raised to their highest level. A surprise attack was all but impossible. If Sunagakure wished to take the Kikyo Castle, they would have no choice but to launch a direct assault.
"…Unless they can bypass our defenses," Shikaku said quietly.
Tsunade's eyes narrowed slightly as she followed the thread of his reasoning. "You mean they might attempt a strike through Mount Kikyo?"
Kikyo Castle stood with its back against the mountain; if Suna forces could circle through it, they might avoid Konoha's main defensive lines and achieve the element of surprise.
"That's impossible," another voice cut in with firm certainty.
It was Ueno Takumi, the current head of Konoha's jōnin command—a seasoned veteran in his forties whose reputation had been forged in the fires of the Second Great Ninja War.
"We've deployed extensive surveillance around Mount Kikyo," he continued. "Barriers have been set in layers. Not a single person could slip through unnoticed—hell, even Suna's hawks wouldn't make it past."
Shikaku gave a small nod. "I agree. A mountain route is unlikely."
He paused, then spoke again, his voice quieter now, as though weighing each word.
"Which leaves only one point of concern… those Suna squads that began moving yesterday."
In truth, Konoha's Anbu had maintained constant surveillance over the movements of the Suna army. Even the slightest disturbance would be recorded and delivered promptly to Tsunade's desk. Every motion the enemy made tugged at the already frayed nerves of Konoha's forces.
On January 23rd, reports had come in: several Suna squads had mobilized—but not toward Kikyo Castle.
The Anbu had shadowed them for a time, yet nothing unusual had been discovered. In the end, the movements were dismissed as routine patrols, lacking any immediate threat.
But Shikaku had not been convinced.
To him, the enemy would never act without purpose.
By the following day, as he pieced together their seemingly erratic routes, a troubling conclusion began to take shape: their paths, though outwardly disordered, had "coincidentally" passed by every river that ultimately flowed into Kikyo Castle.
And it was common knowledge—Sunagakure excelled in the use of poison.
"…About that," Tsunade said, breaking the silence, "after you mentioned it this afternoon, I immediately had all water sources tested. There was no sign of poison."
She exhaled, though her expression remained grave. "I ordered a second round of testing later in the day. Still nothing."
"Of course," she added after a brief pause, "I did consider the possibility that Chiyo's poisons have advanced beyond our detection. So tonight, I had the medical corps conduct a final, comprehensive analysis."
She lifted her gaze slightly. "The report just came in. There are no abnormalities whatsoever."
Chiyo—one of Sunagakure's senior advisors, and a puppeteer of the highest order.
During the Second Great Ninja War, her mastery of medical ninjutsu, puppetry, and taijutsu had left enemy nations in awe. Most terrifying of all was her ability to control as many as ten puppets simultaneously—a spectacle of lethal precision that had once sent even Konoha's forces into dread.
For all her formidable strength, even Chiyo had struggled bitterly in that war, overshadowed by the brilliance of Tsunade—for every poison she had so painstakingly crafted had been unraveled, one by one, by Tsunade's hands.
"It's possible Sunagakure was simply carrying out a routine patrol," Tsunade said at last, her tone measured. "We've been on edge for days now—every movement of theirs feels like a threat. I thought perhaps we were overthinking it, so I didn't bring it up again."
Nara Shikaku reached for the detailed report on her desk, his eyes scanning the precise figures and the clear, unequivocal conclusion at the bottom. Yet even as he read, a quiet murmur escaped him. "Yesterday… they must have done something."
But what?
He pressed his fingers lightly against his temple, a dull ache forming behind his eyes. The truth, he felt certain, lay just beyond the veil—hidden, but close enough to touch. And whatever it was, it mattered. It mattered to Konoha more than they yet realized.
"Since battle is imminent," Yamanaka Inoichi said, breaking the tension, "we should focus on preparing for every possible scenario."
Tsunade seemed to recall something suddenly. "Where is Orochimaru? I haven't seen him all day."
"He went to Ryūchi Cave," someone answered.
Tsunade's brows drew together, irritation flashing across her face. "That man… disappearing at a time like this. Does he not understand what's coming?"
"Did he say when he'd return?"
"No… in truth, we don't even know why he went."
And who among them would dare ask? Who could question one of the Sannin, a man afforded such privilege by the higher ranks?
"Minato and Jiraiya are still on the Iwagakure front," Tsunade murmured, a faint sigh escaping her lips. "There's no way they can return in time."
For a fleeting moment, the weight of it all settled squarely upon her shoulders—every decision, every consequence, hers alone to bear.
But just as quickly, she straightened, her resolve hardening once more.
She was one of the Sannin.
"Even so, we are enough," she declared, her voice ringing with renewed strength. "Sunagakure has already been defeated by us once. If they dare set foot in the Land of Fire again, then we will make them pay a price far greater than before."
"Yes!" The others responded in unison, their spirits stirred.
…
Night deepened.
Even the chirping of insects had grown sparse, and the moon itself seemed weary, retreating behind drifting clouds as though seeking rest. For a time, Kikyo Castle fell into a silence so complete it felt almost unreal.
Within one of Konoha's watchtowers, Taniguchi yawned yet again, his eyes half-lidded and unfocused, his entire posture sagging with fatigue.
Ah, forget it… I've warned him enough already.
Iwasaki cast him a helpless glance. The man looked as though he might collapse at any moment, and truthfully, there was little more to be said.
In truth, Iwasaki himself was no less exhausted. But orders were orders. No matter how heavy his limbs felt, no matter how dull his thoughts became, he had to remain vigilant.
Still, unlike Taniguchi's blunt simplicity, Iwasaki's mind wandered further.
This was the central district of Kikyo Castle—a place considered exceedingly secure. Their watch here was, in all honesty, a relatively idle assignment. If Sunagakure truly launched an attack, it would be the comrades stationed along the outer perimeter who would face the brunt of it first.
He glanced again at Taniguchi—
Already asleep.
Drool slipped from the corner of his mouth, his breathing deep and steady.
How can he sleep so soundly…?
For a fleeting instant, a dangerous thought crept into Iwasaki's mind.
Maybe… I could close my eyes for just a moment.
But as that thought took hold, something shifted.
The world around him suddenly felt… light.
A dizzying sensation seized him, as though heaven and earth had inverted in an instant. His vision blurred, his balance vanished—
And then, without warning, everything fell into eternal darkness.
Left behind in the silent watchtower stood a headless corpse, rigid and upright, its presence grotesquely out of place in the stillness of the night.