The first light of dawn pierced the night, washing the Daimyo's Palace in a pale gold.
Higashima dragged in Maru Masamune. The noble who once brimmed with ambition now looked pitiful—his face ashen, his lavish robes caked with dust, and a dark stain spreading across the hem.
He collapsed to the floor in a heap, tears and snot streaming as he wailed toward the man seated at the head of the hall.
"Brother! Have mercy, I beg you! It was all Kazuma! He trapped me in a genjutsu—I didn't know anything! I swear, I knew nothing!"
His voice cracked through the vast chamber, shrill and pitiful.
The Daimyo regarded him coldly, the warmth usually in his eyes nowhere to be found. He turned slightly to Roshi, who stood silently by his side.
"Roshi, I would like to speak with my brother alone."
Understanding the request, Roshi bowed and withdrew. Higashima remained—no one feared Masamune might turn violent under his watch. The only one who needed to leave was the Konoha ninja.
The heavy doors shut softly behind Roshi, muffling Masamune's desperate sobs.
Inside, the Daimyo rose from his seat and walked slowly to his brother's side. Looking down at the trembling man, he spoke in a calm, emotionless tone.
"Masamune… look up."
But Masamune only pressed his forehead harder against the floor, incoherent apologies spilling from his lips.
"Tell me," the Daimyo continued quietly, "why would you believe such nonsense? Why follow such a mad idea?"
"To kill the Hokage and have the Daimyo command Konoha's shinobi directly—did you truly think such a thing could succeed?"
He sighed. "When the Guardian Twelve were founded, Kazuma once proposed this same idea to me. I dismissed it then, thinking it was a moment of youthful recklessness. I never imagined he'd convince you."
Masamune's forehead thudded against the floor again and again, his words devolving into cries of 'genjutsu' and 'coercion.'
The Daimyo closed his eyes briefly, his gaze drifting toward the ceiling as if seeing into the past.
"The Third Hokage is already far more approachable than his predecessors… Father never told you about the Second Hokage, did he?"
Masamune's sobs faltered. A chill crept up his spine.
"After the First Hokage's death," the Daimyo said softly, "the power that once suppressed the world vanished. Our grandfather… also wavered for a time. He dreamed of reclaiming some of that lost power."
"Masamune, have you heard of Konoha's Anbu? Their full title is the Assassination and Tactical Special Forces." His voice grew cold and deliberate. "During that era, the Daimyo's most loyal retainers began disappearing—one by one. No bodies. No evidence. Not even whispers of who did it."
"Grandfather grew terrified. Even surrounded by guards, he felt eyes in every shadow. In the end, he went to the Second Hokage himself, begging him to send shinobi to protect the Daimyo's Palace."
"After that, peace returned. The boundaries were drawn clearly—Daimyo governs and provides; Hokage commands and protects. Each serves their purpose. Neither oversteps."
The Daimyo's eyes returned to his brother, calm and unreadable. "Is that not balance enough?"
He crouched slightly, his tone softening, almost pitying. "We are not warriors, Masamune. We govern. We build, we trade, we feed the land. Everything a shinobi needs to survive—funds, supplies, mission rewards—comes from us. That is our strength. That is how we hold power, through necessity and stability. Not through bloodshed."
He straightened, letting his robe fall neatly around him. "But perhaps… there were too many Guardian Shinobi Twelve after all."
"Higashima."
"My Lord."
"From now on, you and Hokuto will shoulder more responsibility."
"Understood."
The Daimyo didn't look at Masamune again. His voice was quiet, detached.
"Be steady with your hand. Don't let him suffer too much."
Outside the hall, Roshi had little interest in the Daimyo's private justice. Descending the palace steps, he spotted a faint crimson glow in the courtyard's corner.
Asuma was crouched there, surrounded by a dozen cigarette butts, the air thick with smoke and regret.
"Asuma-senpai," Roshi called out as he approached.
Asuma didn't look up. "Don't call me that," he muttered, crushing a half-burnt cigarette under his heel. "I've already shamed myself enough."
Roshi leaned against the railing beside him. "What kind of man was Kazuma?"
Asuma tilted his head toward the pale morning sky. His throat bobbed once before he finally replied, voice low and rough. "At this point… what's the use in talking about him?"
"True," Roshi murmured, closing his eyes. He hadn't slept all night and was too tired to press further.
That calm indifference only grated on Asuma more. He lit another cigarette, inhaled deeply, and exhaled a long plume of smoke.
"He was… a man of conviction," he said quietly. "Far stronger in his beliefs than I ever was."
"At this point, there's not much meaning in you talking about him, senpai," Roshi said, echoing Asuma's earlier words without opening his eyes.
Asuma choked mid-drag, coughing, then laughed bitterly. "You really don't let things go, huh?"
"Your hesitation cost me quite a bit of extra work, Asuma-senpai," Roshi replied evenly, his tone calm, not accusatory—merely factual.
Asuma froze, cigarette between his fingers. Then he lowered his head, staring at the stones beneath his boots. After a long silence, he exhaled shakily.
"…I'm sorry."
The smoke hung between them, blurring Asuma's face. His voice was distant now, almost lost in the morning breeze.
"I just… couldn't understand. Why does the village keep repeating the same cycle? War, compromise, sacrifice… then a fragile peace… only for it to start all over again. It never ends."
"Kazuma said this was because the 'King' was not singular," Asuma began quietly, smoke curling from his lips. "The Land of Fire has two leaders—the Daimyo and the Hokage. Two wills that can't be unified. Power divided is power wasted. It breeds internal conflict… and gives our enemies an opening."
He exhaled slowly, eyes distant. "So he chose the Daimyo to be that single, sacred 'King'. When he saw the current Daimyo lacked such ambition, he decided to… assist one who was willing."
Roshi opened his eyes, fixing Asuma with a knowing look. The meaning was clear without words: The Third Hokage is your father—and you sided with the Daimyo?
Asuma's voice turned heavier, almost brittle. "During the mission to protect the Daimyo, many comrades died. When I returned, my father scolded me—said I didn't know my priorities, that I'd sacrificed lives for the wrong cause."
He clenched his fists. "I couldn't understand. If causing casualties to protect the Daimyo was my mistake… then why could my father sacrifice Hyuga Hizashi—who did nothing wrong—just to placate the Hidden Cloud?"
He looked away, teeth gritted. "Hizashi was a Konoha ninja too. One of our own comrades. If I was wrong… then wasn't he…" His words broke off. He took a deep drag, as if trying to burn the thoughts away in smoke.
"I didn't understand," he muttered. "So I left the village."
Roshi stayed silent, letting the echo of his confession fade into the wind. Only after Asuma's breathing steadied did he speak again.
"Now," Roshi asked quietly, "how do you see Kazuma's actions?"
Asuma gave a weary, bitter smile. "A fool who strayed down the wrong path. His ideals were sincere… but his methods were twisted—ruthless. And they led to tragedy that can't be undone."
He turned his head slightly. "There's something else you should know. About the incident at the Fire Temple."
Roshi's brows furrowed. "What about it?"
"The one who caused the disturbance was a boy named Sora."
"Sora…?"
"He's Kazuma's son." Asuma's voice dropped lower. "And that child… has the Nine-Tails' chakra sealed inside him."
Roshi's eyes snapped open, the drowsiness gone in an instant.
"It was Sora's sudden rampage that trapped Chiriku and me inside the temple. We couldn't even escape."
"The Nine-Tails' chakra?" Roshi repeated sharply, standing. "Asuma-senpai—wait here."
Without another word, he turned and sprinted back toward the palace.
At that moment, the grand doors opened from within. Higashima stepped out, nodded to him wordlessly, and moved aside.
Inside, calm had returned—as if nothing had ever happened.
"Daimyo-sama," Roshi said, bowing slightly, "I've just received urgent news from the Fire Temple. I must leave at once to investigate."
The Daimyo regarded him briefly, then nodded. "If that's the case, Roshi, you may go. I'm well protected by Hokuto and Higashima."
"Understood." Roshi bowed once more and turned on his heel.
Outside, Asuma was already waiting. Roshi's tone was clipped and decisive. "Asuma-senpai. Take me to the Fire Temple. Now."
Asuma nodded. "Alright."
The two vanished from the palace grounds, their silhouettes swallowed by the wind.
The Fire Temple lay in ruins. Broken walls, scorched stones, and the faint scent of ash filled the air. Monks moved silently through the wreckage, tending to the wounded, clearing debris—their faces etched with exhaustion and grief.
In front of the main hall, Chiriku stood, his normally calm features darkened with fatigue and worry. When he saw Asuma approaching with a Konoha Jonin, he came forward at once.
"Chiriku," Asuma said quickly, "how's Sora? Is he alright?"
Chiriku's expression faltered. "I was just about to send word to you. Sora… he's gone."
"What?!" Asuma's voice cracked. "Gone? How?! He was unconscious!"
Chiriku exhaled heavily, guilt flickering across his face. "That's the strange part. We examined him thoroughly—that dark chakra within him, the Nine-Tails' power—it's vanished. As if it never existed."
Asuma stared at him in disbelief.
"During the chaos, we kept him under guard," Chiriku continued grimly. "But when I went to change his bandages… he was gone. Vanished without a sound."
He shook his head. "From the signs left behind, Sora didn't wake up on his own. He was taken."
Asuma's fist slammed against a charred pillar, the wood cracking under the impact. "Kazuma! It's him—it has to be! He's not done yet!"
"He took Sora… he's planning to use the Nine-Tails' chakra again!"
Roshi's eyes swept over the ruined temple, his voice level but firm. "Asuma-senpai, we'll start by searching the surrounding area—any trails, any traces. If we find nothing…"
He turned, gaze sharp. "We'll report to the village immediately."
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