On a moonless, wind-swept night, the Fire Temple—once a venerable symbol of peace within the Land of Fire—was engulfed in a sea of flames.
Agonizing wails and desperate pleas for mercy crashed against the eardrums like a relentless tide. The Great Fireball Jutsu unleashed by the Sarutobi clan reduced the ancient statues, once thought to be vessels of divine power, into charred husks amidst the scorching earth. The inferno did more than just hollow out the temple's architecture; it ruthlessly incinerated the lives of the monks within.
Watching from a distance, Shisui Uchiha felt a surge of cold anxiety. While the Sarutobi's movements weren't as reckless as wild beasts, they clearly made no effort to hide their actions from Minato Namikaze. Or rather, they intentionally let Minato know, allowing him to dispatch ANBU agents to monitor and handle the fallout—and Shisui was among those agents.
His heavy burden was to ensure no one escaped, to pluck the weeds and destroy the roots.
As the number of acolytes dwindled, blood-soaked Sarutobi ninjas began to emerge from the burning ruins. A few utilized the Substitution Jutsu to mask their departure, slipping away into the shadows via Earth Style while carrying unconscious children.
Shisui's keen eyes missed none of it. According to the ANBU mission parameters, he was supposed to step forward and execute those children personally, ensuring not a single spark of vengeance remained.
But does slaughtering unarmed children really lead to a brighter future for Konoha? Can glory built on a foundation of blood and violence truly endure?
Hidden against the trunk of a massive tree, Shisui questioned himself relentlessly. Within his crimson Sharingan, the black tomoe spun with frantic intensity, a testament to his internal turmoil.
Elsewhere, Hiruko was conducting a very satisfying tour of the Konoha Academy. The "crops" here were growing beautifully. Once these children graduated, they would be funneled immediately into the workforce, adding brick and mortar to the village's rapid expansion and providing the specialized talent needed for the Land of Fire's upcoming integration into Konoha's regulatory system.
In his view, the "old guard"—those with zero growth potential who served only as cannon fodder—had already been left behind by the era. Modern Konoha demanded professionals with practical skills who could generate value, not empty vessels with stagnant records.
"Putting aside whether this can actually move forward, why on earth did you recommend Nono Yakushi for the Medical Ninjutsu Instructor position?" Tsunade asked, currently sitting across Hiruko's lap with a fiery gaze. "Do you think I lack the qualifications to be a teacher?"
Earlier, she had shot him a sharp look, having caught the lingering scent of Nono on him. Hiruko could only offer an awkward, goofy grin, too lazy to exhaust himself with explanations.
Hiruko leaned in with a playful smirk. "Come on, do you really have the patience to deal with a bunch of chirping, troublemaking brats all day?"
"Hmph. And you think Nono has that kind of patience?" Tsunade countered, refusing to back down.
Truthfully, Nono's radiant maternal aura made Tsunade feel a prickle of discomfort. She viewed the woman as a formidable rival. That motherly vibe is just too strong; what man doesn't like that type?
Hiruko shook his head, finding the intricacies of a woman's jealousy difficult to navigate. In his mind, when it came to teaching undisciplined, hyperactive children, the gentle and motherly Nono was the objective "S-rank" choice. Furthermore, the position provided Nono with a steady salary, allowing the orphanage children to live in comfort and even giving her the means to sponsor some of them to audit classes at the Academy. It was the perfect win-win.
"Tch. Hiruko, the way you talk really grates on my nerves," Tsunade muttered, pouting with visible displeasure.
Hiruko chuckled and closed the distance, resting a hand lightly on her shoulder to soothe the atmosphere. For a moment, the air between them grew thick and ambiguous.
"You brat...!!"
After a bit of playful bickering, the mood in the room lightened. Hiruko leaned back lazily against Tsunade, a teasing glint in his eye. "So, how's your progress with the medical techniques I showed you? And any breakthroughs with the Wood Style?"
"Sigh. I've managed to mimic a few of Grandpa's moves, but the Wood Style in my hands... it's just so weak," Tsunade grumbled helplessly. "Regarding the high-level stuff, I've only barely grasped the Wood Dragon Jutsu. I can't even find the door to the rest of it."
Despite Hiruko's guidance, the gap between her output and Hashirama's remained a vast chasm. To Tsunade, she hadn't truly "mastered" the art.
"However, by combining it with my medical knowledge, I've found it's quite easy to create venomous vines or flowers that release pollen with stacking effects—sedation, paralysis, corrosion, that sort of thing."
She could even invert the process, merging medical ninjutsu with specialized pollen to create healing agents. Much like Katsuyu, she could act as a medium to restore chakra and treat the wounded.
Unlike Hashirama's overwhelming, world-shaking force, Tsunade displayed the finesse of a Sannin. She didn't blindly chase her grandfather's shadow; instead, she adapted the power to her own constitution. Combining Medical Ninjutsu with Wood Style yielded unique results. Since Wood Style typically drains life force from the earth or biological targets, she could nourish her vines with her own vitality to inject nutrients directly into patients. This perfectly offset the downside of her standard healing—which accelerated cell division and burdened the body. She could use Wood Style to constantly replenish her own life force, keeping her spirit and chakra at their peak.
Hiruko also began teaching Tsunade the power of Sage Art, albeit his own modified version. The Shikkotsu Forest's raw trial was too horrific; Tsunade wasn't ready for that kind of baptism yet. This was one of the systems he had also passed down to Rin Nohara.
As Hiruko channeled Sage chakra into her, Tsunade felt a brief flash of hesitation before fully relaxing her guard. She allowed the black markings of natural energy to map themselves across her skin. Hiruko placed a mark on her chest as an anchor point for the energy guidance.
Tsunade had never been stingy, sharing every scrap of her clan's hidden scrolls and secret techniques with him. Hiruko, in turn, held nothing back regarding his own research.
In the shinobi world, there are three recognized "Holy Lands" for Sage Art. These are essentially bastions for ancient creatures, places of immense spiritual power that allow beings to achieve longevity. While all Sage Arts are fundamentally about the manipulation of natural energy, each land has developed a distinct "school" based on their racial talents and the specific attributes of their territory.
To Hiruko, simply sensing and absorbing energy to enter Sage Mode was the safest baseline. But he wanted more: the specialized techniques of the three lands and the secrets of using natural energy to extend life. He wanted to skip the trial and error to create a bespoke cultivation method for himself. He even envisioned analyzing the God Tree's ability to absorb energy to boost his own efficiency.
He wanted to understand how "Essence, Breath, and Spirit" could be condensed into a state of "Three Flowers Gathering at the Crown." Or perhaps, he would simply use the God Tree as his foundation and embark on a path of "Scientific Cultivation."
As a traveler from a culture steeped in tales of immortality, Hiruko held a profound longing for the concept of "Ascension." To him, everything could be "cultivated"—even Cybernetic Cultivation was a path to godhood!
Ultimately, despite her initial reluctance, Tsunade agreed to head to Shikkotsu Forest for Sage training. With the Sage Seal Hiruko provided, mastering Sage Mode was now only a matter of time. Of course, Hiruko's hidden motive was to ensure Tsunade had more reasons to spend time by his side. In his heart, she was someone he truly cherished.
Rain fell, drop by drop, soaking into the long-parched earth—a timely blessing from the heavens.
The Daimyo of the Land of Fire sat leisurely in his tea room, cradling a hot cup as he watched nature's gift through the window. He felt a rare sense of tranquility. The older he got, the more he loved the rain; it was pure, unburdened by the complexities of man.
"If only people could be as pure as the rain," the Daimyo mused. He slid a Shogi board toward himself, beginning a game with his Finance Minister.
It was a largely meaningless endeavor. The Minister was a grandmaster, but he wouldn't dare win against his sovereign. Thus, the Daimyo always felt the game lacked the spark of a true challenge. Yet, he never tired of it, for with the Minister, he didn't have to strain his mind to decipher hidden motives. The Finance Minister was his most trusted confidant.
Few could understand his position. For the ruler of a nation entering the industrial age, "loyalty" was the most haunting question of his life. How many committed atrocities in his name? How many remained silent while fulfilling their duty? He couldn't tell.
He felt the weight of the changing times. His ancestors only had to keep the peasants on the brink of survival to maintain order. But now, the farmers were looking up from the soil, hungering for more. His hereditary vassals spoke of loyalty while slowly eroding his prestige for their own gain. He wanted to stop it, but his power only extended through their support. Without them, his influence wouldn't even reach the city gates. He felt old, unable to keep pace with the youth or the shifting world.
The realization of his own aging was a source of profound pain. A man who once ate two chickens for dinner was now reduced to a few scraps of drumstick.
However, experience still had its uses. An attendant handed him a dossier on the local gentry. It detailed a family whose business had been flagging. They had neglected their salt holdings because corrupt subordinates lied about the profits, making the family believe the industry was a pittance. Thus, when Konoha offered to buy them out, they jumped at the precious cash flow.
Who could have guessed that once the salt companies reached Konoha's hands, they would miraculously turn a massive profit? The family patriarch was now livid—at his subordinates for the deception, and at Konoha for taking "their" money. To them, seeing others get rich was more painful than losing money themselves.
But Konoha's maneuver had been flawless, covering every base. If they tried to stir up trouble now, they would lose face—and among the "decent folk," reputation was everything. Besides, Konoha was brimming with talent; if it came to a real fight, no one knew what those "death-defying" ninjas might do.
So, they buried their resentment. They stuck to snide remarks and subtle rumors, hoping that, given enough time, a lie repeated often enough would become truth.
Fortunately, the Daimyo was a capable ruler. He never gave his trust easily. He recalled a story his father told him when he was young.
"Imagine this..."
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