"Hah! You little brat! You have absolutely no idea what the weight of the Hokage's hat really feels like!"
Namikaze Raimon looked down at the determined, puffed-up face of his nephew. A mischievous, almost devilish smile spread across his own features.
Fine. If the kid wanted to taste the bitter medicine of leadership, who was he to deny him? A little early exposure to the crushing reality of adult responsibility might do him some good.
"Alright then! Don't you dare come crying to me later!" Raimon declared, pointing a finger at Naruto. He fully intended to let the boy experience the "harshness of society"—that unique brand of suffering where you don't know true exhaustion until you're buried under a mountain of paperwork.
Honestly, the timing was perfect. Raimon himself was now financially set. If he felt like taking a mission, he could go for a stroll. If not, the interest from his massive fortune would last several lifetimes. He could buy all the high-end skincare and fancy kimonos Minato could ever want!
Naruto, brimming with the unshakeable confidence of youth, puffed out his chest. "I don't even know how to write the word 'regret'!"
His competitive spirit was fully ignited. Why can Gaara be Kazekage, but I, Uzumaki Naruto, future Hokage, can't? In terms of pure power, he was confident he could take on almost anyone in the village! Well, maybe that was a slight exaggeration, but he was close! And if things got really desperate… he could always let the Nine-Tails out for a little walk. That'd show everyone who was boss!
"Hehehe~ Alrighty then!" Raimon's eyes curved into delighted crescents. Let Naruto get a taste of the Hokage's "glorious" life. He'd make him the honorary… the 5.5th Hokage! A trial run of legendary proportions.
"Really?!" Naruto's eyes shone like sapphires.
"HAHAHAHA! I'm gonna be Hokage! Gaara, this was our promise!" Naruto cheered, jumping with unrestrained excitement, completely oblivious to the tidal wave of administrative agony about to crash over him.
Raimon didn't waste a second. Placing a hand on Naruto's shoulder, he activated the Hiraishin no Jutsu, and they appeared in a flash of golden light within the Hokage's Office.
***
Hokage's Office.
"You want him to do what now?"
After hearing Raimon's grand plan to let Naruto "experience being Hokage," Tsunade's brow furrowed with deep concern. One hand rested on her hip, the other massaging her temple. Being Hokage wasn't a game! Naruto didn't understand the basic chain of command, let alone the complexities of village logistics, diplomacy, and budget allocation. He'd be eaten alive before lunch.
"It's fine, it's fine! Let him play around for a bit. It won't cause any real trouble," Raimon waved a dismissive hand, his tone breezy. A few minor mistakes wouldn't bring the village down. Besides, after everything, Konoha as an institution still owed the Namikaze clan a considerable debt of gratitude.
Tsunade sighed, looking from Raimon's mischievous grin to Naruto's blindingly hopeful one.
"…Alright then." She had to admit, most of the major crises were currently resolved. The village was in a period of relative calm. "I don't think even he could burn Konoha to the ground in a single day."
"Brat! Do a good job! Your oba-san is rooting for you!" Tsunade said, a genuine, if slightly worried, smile touching her lips. With a ceremony that was both solemn and utterly surreal, she reached for the white-and-red Hokage hat and placed it gently atop Naruto's spiky blond hair.
"Alright! As of this moment, you are Konoha's acting Hokage!" Raimon declared, looking at Naruto with a mix of doting amusement and anticipatory glee.
"Just watch me, oji-san!" Naruto vowed, striking a pose, his chest puffed out beneath the oversized robe Shizune had hastily helped him into. He would be the best Hokage Konoha had ever seen!
"Then get to work, Hokage-sama," Raimon said, giving a shallow, mocking bow. He only hoped Naruto's enthusiasm would last more than an hour. The boy was still a child, his hardships mostly physical training and ramen shortages. He hadn't experienced the soul-crushing tedium of bureaucracy.
It was different from Gaara. Gaara had lived in a personal hell since birth, constantly battling assassination attempts and the beast within, never knowing a full night's sleep. His ascent to Kage was born from a lifetime of brutal pressure.
Of course, Tsunade wasn't completely reckless. She quietly instructed Shizune to keep a close watch, to gently guide and prevent any truly catastrophic decisions.
With his little experiment set in motion, Raimon left the office with Tsunade in tow. He had other business: first, to track down Kakuzu, that miserly financial genius from Takigakure. A hundred billion ryō was a lot of dead weight. But in the hands of a profit-obsessed immortal like Kakuzu? That money would be put to work, breeding and multiplying like rabbits. After that, a visit to the Sarutobi compound to finally collect on a certain long-overdue debt.
****
Sarutobi Clan Compound, Emergency Council Chamber.
"Sandaime-sama… we truly have no other options."
The atmosphere in the ancestral hall was funereal. The clan's shinobi, those who had been sent out on a frantic, month-long campaign to raise funds—through missions, bounties, and… less savory means—had all returned. They looked haggard, their eyes sunken with exhaustion.
For over twenty days and nights, they had scoured the continent. They'd hunted rogue-nin until the bounties dried up and the rogues went deep into hiding. They'd 'taxed' small merchant caravans until the trade routes grew barren. The larger caravans now traveled with veritable armies of hired shinobi guards, making them unassailable.
They had literally cleared out every feasible mission from every bounty station across the Land of Fire. Short of going after the bounty on Asuma Sarutobi's own head—an unthinkable act—they were utterly tapped out.
"How much is still lacking?" Hiruzen Sarutobi asked, his voice gravelly. The situation had spiraled far beyond his initial, grim estimates. The fault lay in the impossible timeframe. Given years, they could have managed this quietly. Given days? It was a desperate, public scramble.
"Sandaime-sama… we are still short by over two hundred billion ryō."
The number hung in the silent room like a physical blow. Hiruzen felt the world tilt slightly. A wave of dizziness washed over him.
"Over… two hundred billion…"
He took a sharp, pained breath. The deadline was mere days away. That golden-haired demon would come knocking. Where in the five great nations could he find the equivalent of five hundred and seventy-two Asumas in a week?
He had briefly, desperately considered 'borrowing' from the Fire Daimyo's treasury. But the security was too tight, the risk of discovery too great. If the Sarutobi clan was caught embezzling from the national coffers… they would become pariahs, hunted by every nation. It was a death sentence.
"You are dismissed. I will… handle the remainder." Hiruzen's voice trembled, just slightly, betraying the weight crushing his aged shoulders.
After the last clansman bowed and left, the hall was silent save for the crackle of the aging fire. Hiruzen Sarutobi, the Professor, the God of Shinobi who once commanded respect across the continent, slowly pushed himself up from his seat. His back, once straight and proud, was now a pronounced curve. He shuffled towards the family altar, his silhouette against the dim light looking not like a retired Kage, but like a weathered, defeated old man.
The Third Hokage had grown old.
***
Hokage's Office, Later That Day.
Naruto's triumphant grin had frozen, then shattered, then melted into a mask of sheer, unadulterated horror.
He watched, jaw slack, as Shizune and a team of Chunin carried in sack after sack, box after box, piling scrolls and binders into a mountainous heap in the center of the office. It grew… and grew… until it nearly brushed the ceiling beams.
He suddenly felt that training with Might Guy-sensei until he puked, or sparring with Sasuke until they were both bruised and bloody, was a simple, pure, and beautiful paradise.
The scrolls were filled with dense, tiny characters. He recognized them all individually. But strung together into sentences about "agricultural yield quotas," "Chunin exam venue maintenance budgets," and "border patrol rotation logistics," they might as well have been encrypted code from Suna.
"Shi… Shizune-neechan…" Naruto's voice was a weak croak. "Is… is there more?"
"This is all for now."
These were, in fact, the "light" duties—the backlog of minor administrative tasks that Jiraiya and Shizune had been grinding through for the past few weeks. The real complex issues had been handled already.
"Oh… good. That's good…" Naruto whispered, a shaky breath of relief escaping him. Maybe… maybe he could do this.
He had already devised his strategy: the Multiple Shadow Clone Jutsu. It was his answer to everything. The only catch was the feedback—all the exhaustion, boredom, and mental strain from the clones would hit his main body when they dispersed. It was a risk, but he was Uzumaki Naruto! He could handle it!
"Once I finish all of these… I can go home, right?" he asked, seeking final confirmation.
"Just finish them before the end of the workday. You can do it, Naruto!" He pumped his fist, trying to rally his own spirits.
"Kage Bunshin no Jutsu!"
POOF! POOF! POOF! POOF!
The office was suddenly packed wall-to-wall with identical, determined-looking Narutos in slightly ill-fitting Hokage robes.
"Listen up, everyone! I'm counting on you!" the original Naruto yelled.
With a collective nod, the clones descended on the paper mountain, each grabbing an armful of scrolls and finding a spot on the floor, the windowsill, or even perched on bookcases.
"Dammit! What does 'fiscal appropriation' mean?!"
"Why is this word so complicated?!"
"My head hurts!"
The cries of despair began almost immediately. Ultimately, the original Naruto had to sheepishly ask Shizune for a dictionary, which was then passed from clone to clone.
***
Late That Night.
The Hokage's office was still brightly lit. The mountain of documents had been reduced by about half. Scattered around its base, however, were a dozen Naruto clones who had simply… given up. They lay on their backs, eyes vacant and spinning, utterly broken by the relentless tedium.
"I can't… I can't do it anymore… We'll finish tomorrow…" one clone whimpered before dispelling in a puff of smoke.
The original Naruto, who had been trying to focus on a particularly dense trade agreement, suddenly felt a tsunami of exhaustion, headache, and profound boredom crash into him as a wave of clones voluntarily popped out of existence. He slumped over the desk, feeling like he could sleep for a week.
He staggered to his feet, the Hokage hat askew. "Alright… time to go home…"
"Hokage-sama," Shizune's calm voice stopped him at the door. "Today's business has not yet been concluded."
Naruto turned, a spark of hope in his tired eyes. "There's only this much left! It won't take long tomorrow!"
Shizune's next words were delivered with gentle, devastating finality. "These are what remain from today. Tomorrow morning, a new delivery of documents of roughly equivalent volume will arrive for processing."
Thud.
Naruto's soul practically exited his body and hit the floor. He swayed on his feet, the color draining from his face. This… this was going to kill him!
"But… but that's not right!" he protested, a memory surfacing. "Tsunade-baachan always looked so relaxed! She had time to go drinking!"
At this, Shizune could only offer a flat, deadpan stare. All those documents had been handled by her and Jiraiya-sama. Tsunade-sama had essentially been a glorified mascot and final seal-stamper.
"That… is because Jiraiya-sama's capabilities were sufficiently formidable," Shizune explained diplomatically, outlining the previous division of labor.
The realization hit Naruto like a Gentle Fist strike to the gut. Being Hokage wasn't something you could do alone. You needed power, yes, but you also needed a network, support, and most importantly, competent, long-suffering subordinates to do the actual work!
"Jiraiya…? That ero-sennin?!" Naruto's eyes widened as he recalled the white-haired figure always buried in paperwork whenever he'd visited the office before.
A new, desperate, brilliant plan ignited in his sleep-deprived brain. A grin slowly spread across his face, replacing the despair.
"No way… I'm not doing this alone! That's it!" He slammed a fist into his palm, eyes blazing with renewed, mischievous determination. "I'm gonna make that pervy old man come back here and handle these documents with me!"