The late-afternoon sun slanted through the broad windows of the Hokage's office as Senju Hashirama listened to the report. His usually cheerful face was tight with thought, a shadow passing over his warm brown eyes.
"A week ago," Tobirama said evenly, "our joint mission team was ambushed. The survivors only returned to the village yesterday."
Hashirama's brows drew together. During the endless wars of their youth, skirmishes like this had been common: a simple mission spiraled into bloodshed, clans bled each other dry, and before long another war engulfed the land. They had built Konoha precisely to end that cycle. He would not allow history to repeat itself.
"We cannot let this spark another great conflict," Hashirama said at last. "First, comfort the family of the fallen chunin. Next, send a delegation to Hidden Cloud to uncover the truth and negotiate compensation. This must be settled quietly—even if Konoha must bear the cost. Peace is worth the price."
Tobirama inclined his head. He agreed. Development within the village mattered far more than avenging a single shinobi, and no one wanted to reignite the hatred that had finally cooled.
But he added one complication. "Akatsuki Ninja Village also lost two chunin. Resolving things for Konoha is one matter. Convincing Akatsuki is another."
Hashirama brightened as though it were simple. "Then we'll speak with Madara. Uchiha Makoto is part of their ranks, and the Uchiha can carry our message."
Tobirama blinked. "Me? Visit Madara?" His voice sharpened with disbelief. "Absolutely not."
Although he knew Madara would not attack outright, the thought of sitting alone across from his old rival set his teeth on edge. Hashirama chuckled at his brother's obvious discomfort.
"You still don't trust him," the Hokage teased. "Fine, I'll mention it myself when I dine with him later."
"Dinner?" Tobirama repeated.
Across the room, Uzumaki Mito looked up from a stack of papers, her crimson hair catching the fading light. "Dinner? Again—with Madara?" she asked, her tone deceptively mild.
Hashirama, oblivious, smiled. "Yes. Why?"
Mito's eyes narrowed just a fraction. He didn't even ask whether I've eaten. Tobirama, sensing trouble, tried to steer his brother toward safer waters. "Big Brother, Big Sister-in-law hasn't eaten yet. Why don't you have dinner with her first?"
Hashirama turned, surprised. "Mito, you haven't eaten?"
Mito inclined her head, pleased he had at least noticed. "No."
"Well, that's perfect timing," Hashirama said with cheerful innocence. "If you haven't cooked yet, we can all go to Madara's. He should have dinner ready by now—"
The tiny spark of satisfaction in Mito's eyes extinguished in an instant.
"Hashirama," she said, each syllable cool as winter, "are you suggesting I go to Uchiha Madara's home to beg for a meal? As though we don't have a house of our own?"
Hashirama blinked, bewildered. "What? No, I just thought—"
"Never mind. I have more documents to finish for Tobirama." Her voice softened into polite frost. "I'm not hungry."
Tobirama silently bowed his head, resisting the urge to sigh aloud. Even with the hint dropped squarely in his lap, his brother remained hopeless.
Hashirama looked mildly regretful but undeterred. "That's too bad. Madara's cooking is excellent. He even studied to improve it." He turned to Tobirama with unshaken optimism. "Then you'll come with me, right?"
"Absolutely not," Tobirama said flatly, forehead nearly touching the table. "Go by yourself."
Hashirama shrugged, still smiling. "Very well." With that, he departed, his steps light as he headed toward the Uchiha compound, leaving a heavy silence behind.
Tobirama exhaled. "Sister-in-law, you've been patient beyond belief. I'm always on your side. Big Brother's just…captivated by Madara. One day he'll see reason."
Mito only sighed, gathering her papers and gliding from the room.
---
The Akatsuki's Ultimatum
By dawn the next day, the Akatsuki moved faster than anyone expected.
A proclamation spread like wildfire across the shinobi world:
> "By order of our Kage, Hidden Cloud has unilaterally attacked a joint team of Akatsuki and Konoha shinobi, killing three and violating every principle of human decency. For the sake of peace, Hidden Cloud must accept full responsibility. Thirty million ryō for each dead, five million for each wounded. The perpetrators must be delivered to Akatsuki for trial, and the Raikage himself must present condolences and an admission of guilt. Akatsuki reserves all means to pursue justice."
The demands were staggering—public trials, an apology from the Raikage, and reparations rich enough to bankrupt small nations. In truth, Uchiha Makoto had already decided on war; the ultimatum simply dressed his intentions in the robes of righteousness. Still, his strategy was clear: seize the moral high ground first, and let the world believe Akatsuki fought for justice.
Makoto flooded every available channel with his message. Short, fiery essays rolled through marketplaces and tea houses:
"The Rise of the Ninja Village and the Dignity of the Shinobi!"
"Cultured Within, Ferocious Without!"
"The Wolf-Warrior Spirit—A Village's True Shield!"
Each piece bristled with proud defiance, striking chords in the hearts of ordinary ninja. For most shinobi—especially the countless chunin and genin—the work was dangerous, the pay modest, and the end often a nameless death on some remote mission. They served because their village promised to protect them and their families. If they fell, they wanted to know someone would avenge them.
Makoto understood this perfectly. By championing the fallen and demanding vengeance, he became the voice of every unsung fighter. The response was electric.
"Those Cloud brutes think we're weak? We'll show them!"
"They killed our comrades. If they won't pay, we march to war!"
Even high-ranking skeptics inside Akatsuki began to bend. Makoto's authority, once questioned, solidified into something close to absolute. His will had become the village's will.
To deepen the emotional tide, he organized a public memorial for the slain chunin. Families wept openly before a vast crowd. Shinobi who had never met the dead felt anger coil in their chests like steel wire. Hatred for Hidden Cloud sharpened to a blade.
Watching from the dais, Makoto allowed a small smile. The memorial was not only mourning—it was recruitment, preparation, and proof of power. The explosive tags he had stockpiled would soon have their purpose. The wartime supply lines he'd quietly built would at last be tested.
"Hidden Cloud," he murmured to himself, "what will you do? And Konoha—how will you answer?"
---
In the calm halls of Konoha, Hashirama and Tobirama could only wonder the same. One rash move from any side could ignite the continent. Peace, bought so dearly, stood on a knife's edge.
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