Chapter 102: The Whispering Woods of the Senju
The air in the Land of Fire didn't hum with the electric vitality of Uzushio's sea-salt seals. It felt heavy—thick with the scent of damp cedar, ancient mulch, and the stagnant, oppressive weight of a village that had forgotten how to breathe.
Rimon materialized in the deep shadows of the Great Forest, a few kilometers outside the primary Konoha defensive perimeter. He didn't move for a long moment, his boots sinking into the mossy floor of the woods that Hashirama Senju had literally breathed into existence decades ago.
"Quiet," a voice hissed from his shoulder. Black Zetsu's golden eyes peered out from the folds of Rimon's high-collared cloak, scanning the canopy. "The barrier teams are active, Patriarch. They've reinforced the sensory nets since the last skirmish in the Rain. One pulse of that chakra of yours and every ANBU within five miles will be on us like maggots on a corpse."
Rimon didn't answer. He closed his eyes, activating the Vortex-Resonance within his own core. He wasn't suppressing his chakra; he was tuning it. He allowed the molecular vibration of his energy to match the frequency of the surrounding forest—the ancient, fading signature of the Senju lineage that still lingered in the very DNA of these trees.
To any sensor, Rimon didn't exist. He was just another knot on a cedar tree, another gust of wind through the ferns.
"We aren't here to hide from maggots, Zetsu," Rimon whispered, his voice barely a ripple in the air. "We're here to wake up the lions before the hyenas eat them."
The Senju Compound was a ghost of its former glory.
Once, this had been the heart of the Leaf—a sprawling estate of soaring wooden pagodas and training grounds that shook the earth. Now, it felt like a museum. The red-painted gates were peeling, and the grand courtyards were largely empty, save for a few elderly clansmen tending to the spirit-shrines of those who had fallen in the First War.
Rimon moved through the compound like a flicker of moonlight. He wasn't headed for the main hall where the Elders sat in mourning; he was headed for the rear training docks, where the smell of river water and ozone was strongest.
He found his target near a small, secluded pond.
Nawaki Senju looked younger than fourteen in the dim twilight. He was sitting on a wooden pier, his forehead protector resting beside him. He was meticulously sharpening a kunai, his movements mechanical and joyless. There was a smudge of dirt on his cheek and a haunted look in his eyes that didn't belong on a child of the First Hokage's bloodline.
Beside him sat a mission scroll—the distinctive crimson wax of a high-priority deployment. The "Mission" to the Rain. (Thanks to Danzo Nawaki is order to go a very dangerous mission without his Sensei Oruchimaru. It's Because Danzo fear Wood Style.)
"The edge is already perfect, Nawaki," a voice said from the shadows of a nearby willow tree. "If you take any more off, the balance will shift to the hilt, and you'll miss your mark by three inches at fifty paces."
Nawaki didn't scream. He was a Senju; his instincts were sharp, even if his heart was heavy. He spun, the kunai held in a reverse grip, his body dropping into a low crouch as a sprout of pale wood—the Mokuton—with more control thanks to Rimon's gift. snaked out from the pier, ready to strike.
"Who's there?" Nawaki's voice cracked, but his eyes were fierce.
Rimon stepped out of the darkness. He didn't look like the "Big Brother" from the Academy now. He had allowed his presence to expand just enough to fill the clearing. His red hair seemed to glow with a dull, subterranean heat, and the sheer density of his chakra made the surface of the pond ripple in perfect concentric circles.
Nawaki's breath hitched. He recognized that pressure. He recognized the signature of the man who had stood amidst the ruins of Uzushio and defied the world.
"Rimon? It's you." Nawaki took a step forward, his eyes searching Rimon's face as if trying to confirm he wasn't a hallucination born of exhaustion. "Rimon? It's really you."
The kunai clattered against the wood of the pier, the sound echoing sharply in the quiet clearing. For a moment, the heavy, suffocating "Standard" of Konoha seemed to peel away. Nawaki remembered the smell of the sea, the roar of a rubber-man's laughter, and the terrifying, magnificent sight of Zoro cutting through the tides. He remembered the gift that had stabilized the wild, hungry growth of the Mokuton.
"You look like you've forgotten how to breathe, Nawaki," Rimon said, his voice dropping the edge for a moment to let the cousin, the friend, speak through. He walked to the edge of the pier and sat down, dapping his boots over the dark water just as they had done on the shores of the Whirlpool.
Nawaki slumped down beside him, his shoulders shaking with a sudden, sharp tremor. "It's different here, Rimon. In Uzushio... when the Straw Hats were there... everything felt possible. Even against three nations, it felt like we were winning because we were free. But here?" He gestured vaguely toward the distant Hokage Rock, looming like a tombstone over the village. "Every step I take is measured. Every time I use the Mokuton to practice, I feel eyes on me. Not proud eyes. Hungry ones."
Rimon narrowed his eyes. "Danzo."
"He doesn't even hide it," Nawaki whispered, his hand subconsciously gripping his bicep where the Senju crest was stitched. "He told the Council that the Wood Style is a 'National Asset.' They've detached me from Orochimaru-sensei's unit for this mission. They say it's a solo reconnaissance to 'test my limits' in the Rain. But I'm not stupid, Rimon. They're sending me into a crossfire between Hanzo's men and the Stone. They want to see if I break, or if I manifest enough power for them to 'study' later."
Rimon looked out at the pond. He could feel Black Zetsu shifting in his shadow, likely salivating at the thought of the Leaf's internal rot. Rimon's hand went to the scroll at his back."Nawaki, why you don't talk to grandma Mito. If she know Hiruzen will never dare to give that kind of mission again."
" Yes I know. But grandma is already old and also suffering because of 9 tail. I am also the Grandson of God of Shinobi. I can't become burden for my grandma." Nawaki replied.
"They know how you think, Nawaki. That's why they dared." Rimon said. "They fear what they cannot control, Nawaki. They see Hashirama's legacy as a weapon to be stored, not a life to be lived. When I gave you those points, or when we stood together against the Three-Tails, I didn't do it so you could become a battery for the Root."
"I tried to tell Sis," Nawaki said, his voice cracking. "I tried to tell Tsunade that we should just... leave. That the Whirlpool is where the heart of the world is beating now. But she's an anchor, Rimon. She feels she has to stay to protect Grandpa's 'Dream.' She doesn't see that the dream has become a nightmare for the rest of us."
Rimon turned his head, his red hair casting a long, crimson shadow across the pier. "She stays because she thinks there is still something to save. I'm here to show the Senju that the 'Saving' is already done. The Sovereign Uzushiogakure isn't a hope anymore, Nawaki. It's a fact. I have the hydroponic farms running. I have the vibration-seals guarding the coast. I even have... 'Elder M' teaching the Academy kids how to sharpen their intent."
Nawaki's with confusion. "Who?"
"Nothing you will see later." Rimon replied. "Just keep in mind those brat are waiting bor their big brother Nawaki."
Nawaki let out a small, genuine smile—the first one in months. But then his gaze fell back to the mission scroll. The crimson wax seemed to glow like a warning light. "I leave at dawn. If I don't show up, they'll try something else."
"Let them try everything." Rimon said, his voice suddenly cold, shifting back into the tone of the Patriarch. He stood up, the air around him beginning to vibrate with the sheer density of his Will. "Let them call you unworthy successor of 1st and 2nd Hokage. We'll call you citizens of a nation that actually deserves your blood. I am here to talk with grandma Mito and Senju Elders. I will take you guys back to Uzushio. The Leaf thinks it's pruning a tree, Nawaki. They don't realize I'm taking the whole forest with me."
Rimon reached out a hand. "The mission to the Rain? It's going to be the most successful 'death' in history. You're going to walk into that forest, and you're never going to come out. Not as a shinobi of the Leaf, anyway."
Nawaki looked at Rimon's hand, then back at the village that had spent the last few months trying to hollow him out. He thought of the freedom he felt when he saw the Thousand Sunny drop from the sky.
He reached out and gripped Rimon's forearm, the warrior's salute. "Tell me what I need to do."
"Pack light," Rimon said, his eyes flashing with a predatory brilliance. "We're about to commit the greatest heist the Five Nations has ever seen."