The dawn after the Uchiha's impromptu rally-breakfast-meeting-war-council broke with all the subtlety of a hyperactive Chidori.
The Uchiha compound was a hive of impeccably coiffed, Sharingan-tinged activity. After a night of dreaming of glory, tailed beasts, and finally getting to use the family's fancy armor for something other than dramatic scowling in the mirror, they were ready.
The air was full of the energy of people about to make "Uchiha Great Again," a slogan someone had painted on a banner with suspiciously perfect calligraphy.
Meanwhile, on the other side of the village, a very different—and significantly more bureaucratic—storm was brewing.
The Senju and their Uzumaki cousins were also assembled, a formidable force of 500 souls radiating unadulterated goodwill and the desire to punch whoever was bothering their in-laws.
They were the village's moral backbone, its heart, its… well, they were currently being treated like a group of teenagers trying to borrow the village's collective car for a weekend road trip to a war zone.
The problem wasn't their resolve. The problem was Form 28-B: "Application for Mass Exodus (Clan-Sized)."
Standing between them and their heroic departure were Hiruzen Sarutobi and his three favorite buzzkills, the Hokage's advisors.
"Mito-sama," he spoke, his voice the careful, placating tone of a man trying to reason with a natural disaster, losing his composure a little. "The regulations… the protocols… We have over fifty Jōnin here! You can't just take over fifty Jōnin and leave!"
He dared a glance toward the Uchiha compound, from which one could faintly hear the sound of coordinated, slightly arrogant chanting.
He'd signed their permission slip in under a minute.
Why? Because their leader was a pyromaniac with a god complex who looked at him like he was a particularly interesting being she hadn't decided to incinerate yet.
Letting the Uchiha go was a strategic move; it was like releasing a bag of very violent weasels into your enemy's henhouse.
Beneficial chaos.
The Senju, however, were Konoha's beloved golden retrievers.
If they showed up to an international incident, it wasn't "a concerned third party," it was "Konoha Officially Declares War."
Mito merely arched a brow. She remembered when he was just a boy.
He'd followed Tobirama around like a lost puppy, once tripped over his own feet trying to show Hashirama a new D-rank jutsu, and now here he was, hiding behind a mountain of paperwork and the three friends flanking him, who collectively possessed the charisma of a damp leaf.
"Hiruzen," Mito said, her voice smoother than Hiruzen's. "Are you suggesting that the Will of Fire freezes at the village gates? That our famous 'protecting our comrades' policy requires a triplicate form and a waiting period?"
One of the advisors, Homura, spoke—after all, Hiruzen still had to maintain his benevolent image. "The village has a plan! A diplomatic strategy to aid Uzushiogakure! Your… taking everything by yourself would render it null and void!"
From the crowd, a voice chirped, "Was the plan 'wait and see if they stop attacking on their own'? Because it's not a great plan!"
Hiruzen winced. He was trapped. He couldn't admit he was playing 4D shogi with clan politics, and he couldn't outright deny the legendary Mito.
He was banking on one thing: Mito, for all her power, was sane. She loved Konoha. She wouldn't, for instance, threaten to redecorate the Hokage Monument with his own smoking pipe.
He met her gaze, pouring all his weary authority into it. "Mito-sama, please. See reason."
Mito's eyes softened for a fraction of a second, a flicker of nostalgia for the little boy with scraped knees. That boy was long gone. In his place was a politician. A tired, cornered, and frankly, not very good one.
She smiled—a serene, dangerous thing.
"Oh, I see it perfectly, Hiruzen," she said, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper that somehow carried to every single one of the 500 people behind her. "You may need to plan things, and I respect it and wouldn't interfere with what you do, but remember one thing clearly: under no circumstances would Konoha allow its people to abandon their comrades."
She took a single, graceful step forward, and then a strange, shocking scene occurred. She was obviously wearing a pure white kimono, but it suddenly transformed into yellowish tones, along with a cloak of the same color appearing, and her hair changing colors.
At the same time in Konoha, every qualified Jōnin-level ninja felt a strong chakra like never before suddenly appear.
The ANBU who were accompanying Hiruzen couldn't even move, while he, as the Hokage, and his advisors instinctively took a step back.
"My student taught me that sometimes," Mito said, her smile never wavering, "it's much, much faster to ask for forgiveness than permission."
Hiruzen suddenly, and with utter clarity, realized he had severely misjudged the saying: like student, like master.
...
...
...
Speaking of Azula, a smirk graced her lips. She didn't need a sensor-nin's report; she could feel it in her bones—a familiar, sun-bright flare of chakra that made the village itself seem to hold its breath. Mito was done playing nice.
Pop. A swirl of leaves and Uchiha manifested in front of her—a whole squad of Konoha's finest Uchiha clan members hitting the dirt on one knee.
The one in front, a Jōnin who'd probably seen some things, was sweating.
"Azula-sama!" he gasped, his voice tighter than a new drum. "A huge chakra signature of unknown classification was detected coming from the Hokage Mansion! I've… I've never felt anything like it!"
Azula let the man marinate in his own panic for a second. She could practically smell the sheer existential dread wafting off him. With a languid wave of her hand, as if shooing a mildly annoying fly, she offered her diagnosis.
"Relax, that's not an attack," she purred. "That's just my teacher giving a particularly energetic lecture on the Will of Fire. Consider it a reminder to the Hokage."
Honestly, it was almost funny how they panicked. Mito had mastered that form years ago, thanks to a little logistical loophole called the Flying Raijin.
Need to test a Bijūdama-level technique without turning Konoha into a smoking crater? Simply have your prodigy student zap you to a different country. Problem solved.
Azula ran a quick mental tally of who, in this entire boring world, could possibly give the current Mito a run for her money.
There was Madara, probably, skulking in a cave somewhere with his fancy eyeballs that may or may not be Rinnegan. That weirdo Jigen, maybe. And then… her mind drew a complete and utter blank.
The list was shorter than a Hiruzen Sarutobi retirement plan.
Shaking her head, she refocused. The Uchiha were assembled, a sea of Sharingan-ready angst at her command.
The Police Force building would be emptier than a promise from a politician, and young man Hiruzen was probably having a conniption fit right now.
Let him, Azula thought, a thrill of anticipation running through her. Why bother with his petty schemes when she'd be sitting in his chair after all of this? It was just a matter of tidying up this little mess first.
"Gather everyone," she commanded, her voice ringing with the unshakable confidence of a queen who already saw the crown on her head. "Recall the ones who ran off to support the Hokage. We depart now."
The Uchiha should first depart and wait for Mito and her team.
After all, they hadn't spent nine years meticulously planning a coup just to be late for their own grand entrance.
(END OF THE CHAPTER)
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