Once he was satisfied with the control over his blades, Inoiki moved on to what he'd been avoiding for two months: rebuilding his body. The gap between his mind and his muscles was obvious.
He clicked his tongue.
"Looks like I'll need a while to get back into proper shape."
He wasted no time dwelling on the thought. Instead, he forced the air around him to grow heavier, tightening gravity until even something as simple as a breath felt like dragging iron into his lungs. Then, without pause, he began. Push-ups until his arms quivered. Pull-ups until his shoulders screamed. Squats until his thighs locked. Sprints that made his chest burn. Lifts that tested every tendon. Nothing elegant, nothing polished—just hard, steady effort born of stubborn resolve. He pushed the gravity little by little, raising the pressure only as much as his form could bear.
Days settled into a rhythm. Mornings were for endurance and core work. Midday, he focused on power and movement under added weight. Evenings, he dialed things back—breathing, recovery, small adjustments to how his muscles fired, using his psychokinesis to correct tension and timing.
Slowly, the changes showed. His lungs stopped burning so fast. His legs stopped shaking between sets. His hands felt steadier on a grip.
And as his body caught up, something clicked. He could push more mental power into his strikes without losing balance. His psychokinesis wasn't just for steel anymore—it braced his joints, tightened his frame at the moment of impact, helped him hold speed without wasting motion.
Mind and body finally started meeting each other halfway. Not perfect. But close enough to feel real.
While Inoiki threw himself into training, Konoha shifted. Five days after the arrests of Koharu and Homura, Tsunade convened a Jonin assembly. She laid out the evidence, moved to impeach them for corruption, and stripped them of authority.
Prison, however, was out of reach. Nobles from the Land of Fire stepped in—old ties, old favors. The elders avoided a cell, but not the fall.
By decree, Koharu and Homura were barred from Konoha's politics, and so were their descendants. No advisory roles, no back channels, no influence. Tsunade cut them out cleanly.
It was the opening she'd needed. With their interference gone, her decisions no longer stalled in shadows and committees. The Hokage's office was hers to run—directly, decisively. For the first time since taking the hat, Tsunade held full control of Konoha's administration.
Danzo tried to shield them. He pushed favors, tugged at old threads, worked the back channels he'd always relied on. But Tsunade was ready. Every move he made met a wall. One by one, his angles closed. In the end, he couldn't touch the outcome.
With Koharu and Homura stripped of influence, Danzo's platform collapsed. When Tsunade formally dissolved the Council of Elders, his political footing went with it. In its place, she announced a cabinet—streamlined, accountable, built to support the Hokage's office the way it should have from the start. It was exactly what Inoiki had proposed.
She brought in Shikaku next, asking for a plan to cut down the administrative drag. Delegation trees. Decision lanes. Clear reporting. The kind of structure that would lift most of the daily load off her shoulders so she could focus on what only a Hokage could do.
Nearly a month passed.
At the training grounds, Inoiki tested where all that work had taken him. He moved—clean, fast—and closed the distance to a thick-trunked tree in a blink. His fist drove forward. Wood cracked with a hard, dry snap. The trunk split at the center, the top half shearing off and crashing to the ground in a burst of leaves and dust.
The echo rolled across the field. Inoiki flexed his hand once, listening to how the sound carried. Then he set his stance again. There was more to test. More to push.
He didn't celebrate. This was the baseline he'd aimed for—a month's work cashing out where it should.
He drew his personal blade next—the same kind he had once shared with his friends. The steel settled into his grip like it belonged there, an extension of himself. He moved through his forms, sharp and precise, cutting lines into the air. Short arcs that demanded control. Long extensions that tested reach. Sudden halts that forced balance. Layer by layer, he overlaid his psychokinesis—weight adjustments, micro-corrections, edge stabilization—until the sword no longer felt like a weapon, but like a thought made solid.
By the time he lowered the blade, the balance was there. Mind and body in harmony. His power flowed without spillover, his muscles answered without hesitation. For the first time in months, he felt complete.
His eyes narrowed.
"It's time," he murmured. "I can head to Amegakure, draw the Akatsuki out, and end this properly."
He paused, considering the line he'd just crossed in himself.
"Before, I didn't have the power to interfere, even if I wanted to. Now I can. If I move first, I can break their chain—stop the resurrection of Madara and Kaguya before it ever takes shape. No loose ends. No escalations. I'll take the Akatsuki apart and keep this world from reaching that point."
With his decision set, Inoiki went straight to the Hokage's office. When he stepped in, Jiraiya and Naruto were already there with Tsunade. The room was quiet, paperwork stacked in neat lines, sunlight cutting across the desk. Comparatively less than before.
Naruto felt different. Grounded. The natural energy around him was steady and dense—Sage Mode settled cleanly into his chakra. Inoiki didn't need confirmation; he could sense the shift at once.
Naruto glanced over, surprised. "Inoiki? You came to see me since I just got back?"
Inoiki shook his head. "No. I'm here to inform the Hokage. I'm heading to Amegakure to take the fight to the Akatsuki's leader. A few months ago, I faced him, lost, and had to withdraw. Now it's payback."
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