Time passed quickly.
Konoha, in the end, was like a war machine that never stopped moving forward—it would never halt its progress because of a single incident.
Under the dual influence of Root and the ANBU's manipulation of public opinion, the impact of Orochimaru's defection had finally been pushed through, though not without some difficulty.
But this so-called "battle of public opinion" was, at its core, nothing more than both sides throwing mud at each other.
Root guided the villagers into believing that the ANBU should bear the main responsibility. After all, the only achievement the ANBU could present was that Natsuhiko had defeated Orochimaru and brought Uchiha Itachi back.
In every other aspect, they had failed to detect Orochimaru's movements, allowing him to attack the Uchiha with ease.
And when Orochimaru escaped, they hadn't taken any truly effective action to stop him.
These accusations left many within the ANBU feeling guilty—especially Kakashi, who had been primarily responsible for the operation.
He couldn't stop thinking that if he hadn't taken leave that day, he might have discovered Orochimaru's actions earlier, and things wouldn't have turned out like this.
Natsuhiko, however, had reassured him more than once.
Because if anyone truly deserved blame, it was Natsuhiko himself.
After all, Orochimaru had been able to act so smoothly because Natsuhiko had effectively paved the way for him. Without that hidden assistance, there was no way Orochimaru could have succeeded to this extent.
Even Uchiha Fugaku losing one of his eyes… was, in truth, Natsuhiko's doing.
Orochimaru had nearly been brought down by Fugaku. The power of the Mangekyō Sharingan was no joke.
In the end, it was Natsuhiko's interference that shaped everything into what it had become.
After comforting Kakashi, Natsuhiko naturally launched his counterattack. He had never been the type to stand still and take a beating.
Since Root, under Danzo's command, was smearing the ANBU, Natsuhiko struck back directly—targeting both Danzo and Hiruzen Sarutobi.
Interestingly enough, although Danzo had returned, he did so under a cloud of infamy.
Rumors had spread throughout the village that he had been involved in an assassination attempt against Hiruzen himself—and such talk dealt a heavy blow to his reputation.
From this, Natsuhiko drew a rather amusing conclusion: the leadership under Hiruzen was far from united.
But thinking about it, that was only natural.
Danzo had caused so many problems that his return was already a reluctant choice on Hiruzen's part.
Letting him come back didn't mean it came without a price. To regain his position, Danzo had to pay dearly.
When it came to maintaining balance, Hiruzen had always been quite skilled. Allowing Danzo to return burdened with the stigma of an "assassin" effectively ensured that this position would be his ceiling.
If he tried to climb any higher, the entire village would stand against him.
"Using an 'assassin' to show your tolerance, and letting Orochimaru go to show your attachment to the past… I don't know whether to say you're overthinking things, or just being overly optimistic."
Naturally, Natsuhiko wouldn't let such an opportunity slip by. He struck right at their weaknesses.
For instance, he pushed the idea that Hiruzen had grown old—that he had ignored reality and Orochimaru's crimes, choosing to let him escape.
And that he had also overlooked what Danzo had done.
After all, if someone dared to assassinate the Hokage, what else might he be capable of?
Wouldn't it be possible that he had even been secretly working with Orochimaru?
Rumors, at times, needed to sound firm and convincing. At other times, they needed to stay ambiguous—suggestive without being explicit.
Even though Natsuhiko hadn't studied journalism in his previous life, he had seen enough to understand how it worked.
Growing up surrounded by biased media, he had learned these tricks whether he wanted to or not.
Under his careful manipulation, the clash of narratives between both sides became a back-and-forth struggle, neither willing to give ground.
But that was as far as it could go. Pushing things any further wouldn't be easy—the cost in manpower and resources would be enormous.
More importantly, neither side actually wanted to throw Konoha into chaos. Reaching this point was already enough.
Natsuhiko was fairly satisfied with this outcome. After all, the other side was the Hokage himself, holding immense authority.
The ANBU had only managed to hold their ground thanks to Natsuhiko's flawless performance, combined with the fact that Hiruzen's handling of the situation had genuinely disappointed many.
If they kept fighting like this, even if a clear winner emerged, the real loser would be Konoha.
Still, this whole situation served as a reminder for Natsuhiko.
As someone who had crossed over from another world, he knew better than anyone how important public opinion could be.
In the past, he hadn't had the opportunity to make use of it—he lacked both the resources and the power.
But now… things were different.
So he decided it was time to act.
For example—establishing a propaganda department of his own, one that belonged to him… and to the ANBU.
Of course, for the ANBU to independently create such an organization wasn't exactly within the rules.
But Natsuhiko had long since stopped seeing himself as someone on Hiruzen's side, so he didn't care much about that.
Naturally, whatever he could do, Hiruzen's faction could also imitate. Just like how he expanded the ANBU, Root could do the same.
But competition?
That was something Natsuhiko had never feared.
He refused to believe that, as someone from a modern world, he would lose at manipulating public opinion to people from this era.
...
"So, are we really going through with this?"
Inside the ANBU office, the three division commanders, several key members of the secretariat, and representatives from the administrative division were all gathered together.
These individuals formed the core leadership of the ANBU, overseeing its various major departments.
Now, every one of them was staring at Natsuhiko with varying degrees of surprise.
They had expected their leader to strike back after things escalated this far.
But they hadn't expected him to go this far—to actually create an entire propaganda department.
Even though they had never dealt with such a thing before, just from the name—and from their recent clash with Root over rumors—they could more or less guess its purpose.
But the question remained…
Was it really necessary to create such an organization just to oppose the Third Hokage?
Those who had stayed in the ANBU for this long were, for the most part, already firmly on Natsuhiko's side.
While people like Kakashi were fully committed without hesitation, many others still felt conflicted.
They were well aware of how strained the relationship between their current leader—and possibly the future Hokage—and the Third Hokage had become.
Being dragged into the power struggle at that level wasn't something they wanted.
But sometimes, it wasn't up to them.
All they could do now was support Natsuhiko and help him secure victory—otherwise, their own futures wouldn't be easy.
Because of that, they also hoped the ANBU would develop in a more practical direction—investing resources where they truly mattered.
Not wasting money on something like propaganda.
Yet Natsuhiko's attitude left them helpless. He clearly had his mind set on this.
"I understand your concerns," he said, sweeping his gaze across the room. "Most of you probably think creating a propaganda department is just a waste of money, right?"
Aside from Kakashi, who looked completely indifferent, the others either lowered their heads or avoided his gaze, lost in thought.
It was obvious—they didn't have much confidence in this decision.
But they also couldn't oppose him.
Natsuhiko himself admitted that such an endeavor could indeed be costly.
But just because it cost money… didn't mean it couldn't make money as well.
If he had brought this up, it meant he already had a plan in mind. Otherwise, he wouldn't waste time discussing it here.
"There's no need to worry too much about that," he continued calmly. "Let me ask you something—aside from strength, what's the most important factor in a ninja's battle?"
"Intelligence gathering," someone answered almost immediately.
Even those in the secretariat and administrative divisions were still, at their core, shinobi.
Information superiority—they couldn't possibly be unaware of how important it was. But what did that have to do with "propaganda"?
Were they supposed to spread false intelligence through publicity?
What a joke. Their enemies weren't idiots. Who would believe something like that?
"Good. It seems everyone here has a very clear understanding of intelligence gathering."
Natsuhiko interlaced his fingers and rested them in front of his face, the lower half of his expression hidden behind his hands.
"Then let me ask you this—aside from intelligence, do we have any other methods that can make it easier for us to win wars?"
Renge frowned as she thought deeply about his words. After a moment, she looked up at him and asked, "Are you still talking about this propaganda department, sir?"
"That's right."
Natsuhiko nodded. Even though his expression was hidden, his voice carried a faint trace of amusement.
"Everyone has been mistaken about one thing. I'm not building this propaganda department just for use within Konoha.
"Intelligence is one of the most critical tools we use to defeat our enemies—but sometimes, propaganda can achieve an even better effect when used together with it."
He leaned back slightly as he continued.
"Take Sunagakure, for example. If they wished to go to war with us, they would first need to mobilize their people. And that is precisely where our propaganda could produce some very interesting effects.
"This time, Danzo tried to smear us, and we used propaganda to turn the situation around. The same principle applies elsewhere.
"If Sunagakure wanted war, but we had no desire to fight, then we could use propaganda to emphasize the devastating consequences such a war would bring. By reminding them of historical precedents and past defeats, we could wear down their resolve before the first battle even began.
"On the other hand, if war breaking out would benefit us, then we could use propaganda to ensure they were unable—or unwilling—to back down once the conflict started.
"Controlling public opinion doesn't simply mean controlling sentiment within our own village. It means influencing the opinions of other villages as well. Only then can we truly guide their actions, manipulate their decisions, and ultimately achieve our objectives."
Natsuhiko spoke in an even, almost casual tone, but his words felt as though they had opened the door to an entirely new world.
Everyone in the room stared at him in stunned silence. None of them had expected that something as seemingly mundane as an internal smear campaign—something that had, at times, felt little better than a political squabble—could lead their commander to such profound and far-reaching conclusions.
Kakashi, for one, had never cared much for this sort of thing. He was still somewhat annoyed that Orochimaru had chosen to make his move on the very day Kakashi had finally taken leave. Yet as he listened to Natsuhiko now, even he found his full attention drawn in.
As a shinobi, he understood all too well what this could mean. If Natsuhiko's ideas were ever fully realized, the destructive potential they held for rival villages would be almost unimaginable.
And he wasn't the only one to realize it. Renge and Sora exchanged glances, their eyes lighting up almost simultaneously as new possibilities unfolded in their minds.
For instance, during peacetime, they could shape narratives in other villages according to Konoha's needs, subtly guiding public opinion and influencing how those villages viewed Konoha. If they could control that perception, they could effectively shape the diplomatic environment around them, creating advantages that were almost impossible to quantify.
Even if they lacked the means to accomplish all of that immediately, there were still countless other ways to put such methods to use.
"In that case," Sora said at last, her voice as gentle as ever, though the excitement beneath it was impossible to miss, "following your example—if Konoha were to go to war with Sunagakure, couldn't we use propaganda to influence the other villages as well?"
She leaned forward slightly, her mind already racing.
"For example, we could steer Iwagakure into believing that Sunagakure has no real chance of succeeding. That way, instead of seeing an opportunity to profit by attacking Konoha, they would focus on preparing to claim their share of Sunagakure's losses once Suna is defeated."
Renge had understood immediately. Picking up where Sora left off, she smoothly filled in the rest of the idea, and by the time the two of them had finished explaining, everyone in the room felt as if a window had suddenly been thrown open in their minds.
If Natsuhiko truly expanded this concept, it could evolve into an entirely new form of warfare—a war fought not with blades or jutsu, but with words, perception, and influence. A true war of public opinion.
By guiding and manipulating the thoughts, policies, and emotions of others, they could affect not only the civilians of another village, but also its shinobi. Under the right circumstances, the results could be astonishing—perhaps even decisive.
No matter how they looked at it, the advantages far outweighed the drawbacks. This would benefit not only the ANBU, but Konoha as a whole.
"However… doesn't this seem like it would cost a lot of money?" one of the Nara clan shinobi from the administrative department asked, scratching his head.
"I agree with the idea," he continued, "but I still have to raise some concerns. Aside from the financial cost, this plan also requires manpower. We might have enough people within the village, but expansion is another issue entirely."
"Your idea is excellent, Commander, but how exactly are we supposed to implement it? Inside the village might be manageable, but other villages are not places we can easily infiltrate."
"I've already considered that," Natsuhiko said with a faint smile, tapping the table lightly before speaking again.
"In fact, all of you are falling into a misconception.
Who said we need to rely heavily on trained personnel? We can hire civilians to handle certain tasks."
"Civilians?" someone immediately frowned.
At that moment, everyone in the room reacted the same way, their brows tightening.
This was the ANBU's work they were talking about.
The importance of this propaganda system was unimaginable. Allowing ordinary civilians—people who had never even undergone proper anti-interrogation training—to participate in it was basically asking for trouble.
But despite their doubts, no one interrupted him.
Natsuhiko's authority had already been firmly established since the day he became a commander. Everyone here remembered it clearly.
Normally, he was as warm and approachable as the sun itself—gentle, radiant, easygoing.
But that kindness didn't mean you could casually challenge him. Especially not when he was speaking about important matters.
He accepted opinions. He treated others well in everyday life.
But at the end of the day, he was still the commander.
And if someone crossed the line, that warmth could turn into something far more terrifying.
"Yes, civilians," Natsuhiko repeated with a nod, stroking his chin as his smile widened. "That's precisely why I say you're all looking at this the wrong way. This plan will certainly require both money and manpower, but it also has one particularly interesting quality."
He leaned back slightly.
"It can sustain itself."
The room fell completely silent.
"Why not establish a dedicated organization—one focused specifically on reporting, publishing, and public outreach? Every day, it could provide the villagers with the things they care about: news that affects their lives, topics that interest them, and even entertaining stories.
"For example, we could publish accounts highlighting the bravery of our ANBU shinobi—their covert operations, their infiltration missions, the way they eliminate threats from the shadows to protect Konoha.
"And, of course, we could add a few memorable lines. Something like: 'We work in the darkness to serve the light. Nothing is true; everything is permitted.'"
A faintly amused glint flashed in his eyes.
"The goal is simple. Capture their interest. Once you've done that, propaganda and influence can take root naturally, almost without them noticing. They will begin to think well of you, to admire your strength and reliability. Before long, they'll want to join you, support you, and draw closer to you."
As he finished speaking, Natsuhiko paused deliberately.
The others, however, were already completely absorbed, as if they had entered a new mental state.
Seeing this, he nodded slightly in satisfaction.
In essence, what he was proposing was extremely simple.
Media propaganda.
If this world had internet… perhaps he could have done even more with it.
But even without it, this was already more than enough.
But media propaganda could work in much the same way.
By using carriers like newspapers and other written publications, they could subtly express the ideas they wanted to spread—without making them too obvious.
Like a gentle spring rain, it would slowly and quietly reshape people's thinking until, eventually, it achieved the desired result.
For this approach, Natsuhiko had to thank the "free and democratic" nation across the ocean from his previous life. If not for them, concepts like various "-springs" of political upheaval would never have appeared in such abundance.
The importance of information and public opinion was immeasurable. Natsuhiko intended to use this method against the people of this world—a form of dimensional reduction strike, in a sense.
And not only that. If handled properly, the financial gains from it would be just as significant.
"Which means this kind of institution can employ a large number of civilians. In doing so, we're also creating more jobs within Konoha."
"All we need to do is control the most critical parts—for example, content review, and determining how articles are arranged."
"We can deliberately place negative content at the beginning, emphasize it heavily, and then subtly downplay it at the end with a few simple sentences that 'refute' it. That alone can create strong misleading effects."
"We can even set specific guidelines for the people we hire—what can be written, what cannot be written, what must be emphasized, and what should be simplified. In that way, public opinion will be completely under our control."
"On top of that, the content we produce and print will be charged. After all, this institution also needs funding to sustain itself."
"But for the sake of accessibility, the price cannot be too high. Otherwise, we'll lose a portion of potential readers."
"However, since our publications carry strong elements of guidance and promotion, what do you think would happen if we collaborated with merchants to place advertisements in them?"
"And once the results are proven effective, wouldn't we be able to raise the price and let them compete for advertising space on their own?"
"That way, we would not only sustain the entire operation financially, but even expand it to other villages."
Since the topic had already been opened, Natsuhiko didn't mind elaborating further.
And as he continued speaking, the people in the room gradually fell into a kind of stunned silence.
They were all intelligent individuals. They could infer many things from a single idea, connecting dots across multiple fields.
But that ability usually stopped at the level of shinobi thinking—within missions, tactics, and combat.
It did not extend to linking commerce, information control, and warfare into a single integrated system.
What Natsuhiko demonstrated, however, was exactly that.
He took completely unrelated elements and connected them through a structured mechanism, allowing them to reinforce each other and ultimately form a self-sustaining cycle.
This was something they simply could not have conceived on their own.
After a long silence, someone finally exhaled, as if recovering from the shock.
"I believe there is no reason not to execute this plan proposed by the Commander," a shinobi from the administrative department said.
"I agree," a member of the secretariat nodded. "If implemented, this plan will bring enormous benefits to both Konoha and the ANBU."
"Agreed."
"Agreed with the Commander proposal!"
"I support the Commander!"
"Seconded!"
One after another, voices of approval echoed through the meeting room. It was clear that Natsuhiko's plan had completely convinced them.
Who could have imagined that a simple internal rumor battle within the village could evolve into something with such far-reaching implications—and such immense benefits for Konoha?
Natsuhiko, however, remained calm as he observed their reactions.
To him, it was nothing particularly surprising. After all, he had brought with him the knowledge and memories of another world.
If he couldn't even handle something like this, then his previous life would have been wasted.
"I may not know how to make gunpowder or forge glass," he thought lightly, "but the things I've learned… are still useful in their own way."
Who said only science students get the advantage when crossing worlds?
Although science-type minds might indeed live better in another world—and even kickstart industrialization—I hadn't exactly been transported to ancient times anyway.
...
While the ANBU under Natsuhiko's leadership was operating at full speed, deep in the forest behind the Uchiha clan compound, a young boy stood alone.
Targets of varying sizes were placed on the surrounding trees, some even hidden in blind spots that were impossible to directly aim at from the ground.
A refreshing forest breeze swept through the area, rustling the emerald leaves with a soft, steady whisper.
Then, a single leaf drifted down from the treetop—and in that instant, the boy moved.
His body shot upward in a sudden leap. Mid-air, he twisted his body into a spin, and at that moment his eyes had already turned a deep crimson. With a sharp glance left and right, he memorized the positions of every target in sight.
Both of his hands moved at once, throwing kunai from different angles toward different bullseyes.
What happened next was astonishing—several of the kunai collided with each other mid-air, deflecting their trajectories in an instant before continuing on toward targets hidden in blind spots.
Thwack!
The boy landed lightly on the ground, the falling leaf touching down beside him at the same time. He raised his head and began inspecting the targets around him.
Every frontal target had been hit dead center. He gave a small nod—those were already at a level he could achieve easily now, nothing worth being proud of.
With a calm expression, he walked forward to check the targets hidden in the dead angles. This time, however, his usually cold face finally softened slightly.
Every single hidden target had been hit perfectly.
This kind of technique—making two kunai collide mid-air to deliberately alter their trajectories—was something very few people in all of Konoha could even manage.
Even among jōnin, only a handful could accomplish it.
For most ninjas, kunai were simply tools for killing. As long as they could throw them accurately, that was enough.
No one would willingly practice such an almost obsessive, borderline self-torturing throwing style unless they were either fanatics or extremely stubborn perfectionists.
To the majority, the time spent mastering something so impractical would be better used learning a couple of real ninjutsu.
Not to mention deliberately hitting targets hidden in blind spots using redirected mid-air throws.
And yet, this highly technical, almost inhuman skill had been mastered by a boy who was only six or seven years old.
"So this is the Sharingan… such a terrifying power."
The boy murmured softly.
In his crimson eyes, a single tomoe slowly rotated.
At his age, possessing such eyes was already beyond what "genius" could describe.
He raised his head slightly. Sunlight fell across his face, finally revealing his features clearly.
Uchiha Itachi—the greatest genius of the Uchiha clan after the era of Uchiha Madara, and before the era of Sasuke.
The man who would eventually bring about the downfall of the Uchiha clan with his own hands, and guide Sasuke's fate according to his own will.
Right now, he had already awakened the Sharingan. Even though it was only a single tomoe, it was undeniably active.
What Natsuhiko likely never expected was that during his assault on Uchiha Fugaku, when he injured Fugaku and took one of his eyes right in front of Itachi—
that moment of shock and impact had directly triggered Itachi's awakening.
The Sharingan had opened because of it.
For Itachi himself, however, he did not particularly welcome this power. The pain he had endured at the moment of awakening was something beyond words.
He would have preferred his father to defeat Orochimaru and that mysterious intruder, rather than end up injured, losing an eye, and falling into a state of visible depression.
With a quiet sigh, Itachi understood that what had happened could no longer be changed.
But while events could not be changed, people could.
The humiliation his father had suffered—he would find a way to take it back himself.
And more than that, his father's current condition also caused Sasuke great fear and distress.
That was why he was pushing himself so hard.
He had to become stronger.
As a son, as an older brother—he had to bear everything.
He would continue to grow stronger until the day he had the power to face Orochimaru… and that mysterious man behind everything.
Even so, Itachi clearly understood that he still had a long way to go. After all, even someone as strong as his father had failed—and worse, he himself had once been taken away.
If not for that ANBU commander, he would likely have already ended up as nothing more than a test subject in Orochimaru's laboratory by now.
"The ANBU… if only I could join them."
Itachi let out a quiet sigh. Then, carefully gathering his kunai and retrieving the targets scattered around the area, he placed everything into the backpack he had brought with him, preparing to head home.
"That's enough training for today. I'll continue tomorrow."
Just as he was halfway through packing up, his expression suddenly shifted. In an instant, a kunai was already in his hand.
His crimson eyes snapped toward a nearby direction as he coldly called out, "Who's there? Show yourself."
"Not bad. You've improved quite a bit."
From the shadows behind the trees, a figure wearing a mask slowly stepped out.
When Itachi saw him, he froze slightly. Then, as if realizing something, a faint look of relief and surprise appeared on his face.
"Is that you?" Itachi asked softly. "Shisui?"
"Although admitting it isn't exactly the correct thing to do…" Shisui let out a small sigh and slowly removed his mask. "It's been a while, Itachi."
"It really is you!"
A rare spark of excitement appeared in Itachi's usually calm demeanor.
Uchiha Itachi and Uchiha Shisui had become friends very early on. Even though there was a significant age gap between them, it never affected their bond.
However, Shisui had suddenly disappeared over half a year ago. Even when they occasionally crossed paths, he always acted mysterious and evasive.
No matter how Itachi asked, Shisui would never reveal where he had gone, nor what he was doing.
That left Itachi feeling helpless, though there was nothing he could do about it.
But now, it seemed he finally understood what had happened. His close friend had joined the ANBU—the same ANBU that had once saved him.
Still, Itachi quickly calmed himself. His expression turned serious again.
"Shisui… are you sure about this?"
"I know what you're worried about." Shisui waved a hand lightly. "It's troublesome, but as long as we don't talk about it, it won't be a problem."
Then he looked at Itachi more closely, his tone turning a little more earnest. "I didn't expect you to have already awakened your Sharingan. That's impressive."
"If possible… I would rather never awaken it at all." Itachi sighed softly. Then he looked at Shisui seriously. "So why did you come to find me?"
"I know what happened to the clan head must be hard on you," Shisui said, his expression growing serious. "That's why I want to help you."
"Help me?"
"Yes. I plan to train you using ANBU methods. It will be extremely harsh. Can you accept that?"
"ANBU methods…" Itachi paused for a moment, then nodded without hesitation. "That sounds perfect."