The finality of Hiruzen's declaration—two weeks—hung in the sunlit office, not as a suggestion, but as a stone dropped into the still pond of their deliberations. The ripple of reaction was immediate, breaking the tense silence that had followed the summit's revelation.
"Two weeks?" Utatane Koharu was the first to voice the collective surprise, her measured composure cracking for an instant. Her fingers, which had been resting calmly in her lap, tightened slightly.
"Hiruzen, that is… remarkably soon. The summit itself is a month away. Such haste in departure will be noted and likely interpreted as anxiety. Or undue eagerness."
Mitokado Homura nodded, his gravelly voice a low accompaniment. "The journey to the Land of Iron, even with a full escort moving at shinobi speed, does not require a fortnight. A week, perhaps eight days, with caution. To leave so early broadcasts that we have other business. Business, we feel the need to conceal within the timeline of the summit." His aged eyes, sharp behind their lenses, fixed on Hiruzen.
"It makes us look… furtive."
Throughout this, Danzō remained a statue of silent attention. He did not shift in his seat, nor did his eyes move from their fixed point. Yet, his very stillness seemed to absorb the questions, analysing them, filing them away. His silence was a pressure in the room.
Hiruzen met their concerns not with defensiveness, but with the weary resolve of a man who had already mapped the entire treacherous path in his mind. He leaned forward, placing his elbows on the desk, steepling his fingers before his face.
"You are correct, Homura," he acknowledged, his voice calm but iron-firm beneath its usual gravel. "It is not merely a journey to the summit. We will not travel directly to the Land of Iron." He paused, letting the implication sink in. "Our route will circuit through several of the minor countries and independent villages that border the Land of Fire. Villages whose allegiances were… tested during the war."
"Recall the ambush at Sora-ku Gorge. Our intelligence was flawless, yet the Kumo force was waiting. We later traced a leak to a trading post in the Land of Keys, a post funded by a minor village we had considered neutral. Their 'neutrality' cost thirty-seven Konoha shinobi their lives."
The air grew colder. This was not just diplomacy; it was a post-war reckoning. A tour of the scattered, bloody chessboard to reclaim pieces that had skittered away during the earthquake of conflict.
"This journey," Hiruzen continued, his tone one of grim pragmatism, "is to renegotiate alliances that have strained, and to apply… diplomatic pressure… on those who betrayed their agreements. It is to remind them that the war is over, and Konoha's ledgers have two columns: debts owed, and debts to be collected. To do this quietly, under the auspices of travel to a larger summit, is efficient. To do it after the summit, when concessions may have weakened our perceived position, would be foolish. We go now, from a position of strength, before the other Kages can formally diminish it and balance our books."
The justification transformed the early departure from a sign of weakness to a calculated, aggressive play. It was diplomacy with the sharp, metallic scent of implied threat.
The discussion then descended from strategy into gritty logistics. Koharu, ever practical, began outlining potential routes, her voice a steady murmur. "The Valley of Valleys offers cover but is rife with bandits and missing-nin. The Mountain Pass is more exposed but faster…"
Nara Shiba finally stirred.
"The bandits are predictable. The exposure is a constant. Prioritise speed over secrecy after the 'visits.' The window for ambush is largest when our intentions are dual-purposed." His words were not numerous, but each was a polished stone of logic, dropped into the stream of conversation to alter its flow.
Danzō, breaking his glacial silence, spoke for the first time.
"The escort must be substantial. A full company of ANBU, supplemented by two squads of specialised Jonin. This 'diplomatic pressure' you speak of will be seen as intimidation. Intimidation provokes rash responses. We must be prepared to answer."
Hiruzen shook his head, a firm, slow motion. "No, Danzō. That is precisely the impression we must avoid. This is a political journey, not a military march. An overt show of force would undermine the message. It would scream insecurity, not confidence. The escort will be lean, elite, and unobtrusive."
The rebuttal was gentle but absolute, a reminder of who held the Hat. Danzō's eyes narrowed a fraction, but he said nothing more, retreating back into his shell of bitter silence.
One by one, the practical decisions were finalised: a route that balanced efficiency with necessary detours, an escort size that spoke of capability without aggression, contingency plans for communication blackouts. The meeting wound down, its purpose spent.
The elders rose. Koharu and Homura exchanged a final, quiet word as they moved toward the door, their low murmurs a testament to the countless councils they had shared. Danzō was the last to rise, he paused at the threshold, not looking back, a dark silhouette against the bright corridor, before disappearing from view.
The door closed, leaving the vast office feeling suddenly, profoundly empty.
Only two men remained: Hiruzen, anchored behind the weight of his desk, and Nara Shiba, who finally pushed himself off the wall and approached.
Hiruzen let out a long, slow breath, "Before I depart, Shiba, there is one piece of domestic groundwork that must be finalised."
Shiba's gaze was understanding. "The Jonin Commander appointment."
"Yes," Hiruzen confirmed, lowering his hand. His eyes were tired but clear. "The nomination for Minato will be… dealt with. The village's military structure cannot be in flux with the Hokage away and a summit shaping the geopolitical landscape. It would be an open invitation for internal… rearrangements."
The subtext was clear: it would leave a vacuum that others, like Danzō, might seek to fill with their own people. Stability during his absence was paramount, and Minato Namikaze was the cornerstone of that stability.
Shiba gave a single, shallow nod. "It can be done within the week."
"Good." Hiruzen looked out the window at the village basking in its deceptive noon peace.
"See that it is."
Then, Shiba asked the next, critical question. "Apart from Minato, who will form your escort?"
Hiruzen did not answer immediately. He continued to look out at Konoha, his profile etched with deep lines of thought and responsibility. The question of the escort was not merely about security; it was a profound statement of trust.
Those who travelled with the Hokage into such a delicate, dangerous series of meetings would be his shield, his witnesses, and an extension of his will.
They would see him at his most weary, his most strategic, his most vulnerable. Their selection would send its own message to the village and to the watching world.
Finally, he turned his head back to Shiba. His decision, when it came, was decisive.
"Minato," Hiruzen said, the name hanging in the air, "will remain in the village."
Shiba's eyebrows lifted a millimetre, the Nara equivalent of stunned surprise. It was the most efficient way to position Minato as the de facto leader in the Hokage's absence, to cement his authority by letting him hold the reins while Hiruzen was away. It was a masterstroke of political grooming. But it left the escort question wide open, and far more perilous.
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