When Danzō arrived, he realized he actually wasn't the last one.
Everyone else had already gathered, the atmosphere thick with impatience… right up until Orochimaru finally strolled in, hands tucked into his sleeves, moving at a lazy, unhurried pace.
"Heh… looks like everyone got here early," Orochimaru said softly, as if he weren't clearly late.
That cold, low aura of his, paired with those pale golden slit pupils, made the back of everyone's neck prickle. Even when his tone was mild, there was a chill underneath it. A few people clearly looked displeased, but with "student of the Third Hokage" stamped on his file, all they dared offer was a quiet snort.
"Sit down, Orochimaru," Hiruzen said. His face twitched; dissatisfaction was obvious in his eyes.
"Yes, sensei."
Orochimaru completely ignored the mood and, instead of sitting, casually leaned back against the wall in a corner, arms still folded inside his sleeves.
Once everyone was present, Hiruzen cleared his throat twice.
The room fell properly silent. Everyone straightened up, recognizing that the leader was about to speak, and turned their attention toward the Hokage.
Hiruzen laced his fingers together in front of his mouth, elbows resting on the desk. His gaze swept across everyone, heavy and oppressive. He was in no mood to talk in circles today.
"Everyone," he said, voice low, "we're going to war."
War.
Some of those present had fought in the last one.
Hearing that word again sent a ripple through them; even so, they stayed composed.
Others, like Nara Shikaku, Yamanaka Inoichi, and Akimichi Chōza—freshly seated clan heads who had never experienced a shinobi war firsthand—showed more obvious unease.
Hiruzen caught every reaction and sighed inwardly.
The new generation of Ino–Shika–Chō… still too green. They needed tempering.
Silence stretched until Shikaku finally spoke, going straight for the core with three quick questions:
"Hokage-sama, which village will we be fighting? How reliable is this information? And what is the cause of the war?"
"The information is confirmed," Hiruzen replied. "As for our opponents… for now, we can say Kirigakure for certain, and Iwagakure is highly likely as well. Sunagakure and Kumogakure's positions are still unclear."
He paused, then continued.
"As for the cause… that's not something you need in detail right now. In short, it's not a situation that can be resolved through diplomacy."
"Not even with reparations?" someone asked.
The voice came from Danzō's side of the table—hoarse, a bit nasal… and with an unmistakable sharp, almost delicate edge underneath.
Everyone in the room was a veteran. They all picked up on it instantly. Several heads turned toward Danzō with matching puzzled looks.
Under that collective stare, Danzō's heart lurched.
He forced his lips into a thin line and deliberately lowered his tone, trying to sound rougher:
"Ahem. I misstepped while training a new technique today and damaged my vocal cords. My voice is a little distorted. No need to mind such details—we should be focusing on the current problem."
The excuse was flimsy.
But no one here was free enough to pounce on something that trivial. They simply logged it as odd and moved on.
Hiruzen shook his head and let out a tired sigh. His furrowed brows seemed to sink even deeper.
"Reparations… I'm afraid not. Let's move on to something practical: how we can pre-empt and contain Kirigakure."
"Why not?" Danzō frowned, slipping into the familiar tone of an old comrade. "Explain it properly, Hiruzen!"
He didn't notice that the last part came out with the slightest hint of… a whine.
Hiruzen's eyelid twitched. His gaze lingered on Danzō with a strange look.
Something was definitely off today.
Realizing he might have overreacted, Danzō quickly coughed to cover it.
"Ahem. I mean, if we can resolve this peacefully, we should avoid war. You know as well as I do that Konoha is not suited to fight right now. Tsunade is gone, Jiraiya is wandering, White Fang is dead by his own hand—our high-end combat strength has a huge gap."
From the corner, Orochimaru finally stirred. His eyes gleamed with amusement as he stared straight at Danzō.
"Heh… now that's interesting," he said. "The war maniac who's usually desperate to light the fuse suddenly doesn't want war. How unexpected."
His golden pupils narrowed.
"Though, what I'm really curious about," he added, "is what sort of technique you've been practicing lately."
"What business is that of yours?! I… I'm thinking of the village!"
Danzō's entire new body gave a little involuntary shiver. Sweat pricked at his brow.
"Thinking of the village" was a nice slogan.
The real, uglier thought was simple: once war broke out, the leader of Root would definitely be sent to the front lines. And in his current condition… the battlefield was the last place he wanted to be seen.
He could fool the others.
But Orochimaru?
Years of collaboration meant that snake knew him too well—and knew human anatomy even better. The smallest change in bone structure, muscle mass, gait, or posture would stand out to him like a red flag.
If he noticed…
If Orochimaru figured it out…
Just imagining the fallout made Danzō want to crawl into a hole and never come out.
"Don't be so distant, Danzō," Orochimaru continued, smiling thinly. "I'm simply curious. What kind of technique can alter a man's height, weight, gait, tone of voice… and even skeletal proportions, after decades of habit?"
"I told you—it has nothing to do with you," Danzō snapped, trying to sound cold and authoritative and only managing to sound even more flustered. "We should focus on the important matter at hand."
Hiruzen nodded slowly.
Put that way… it did sound reasonable. He was about to redirect the discussion when Orochimaru cut in again, voice suddenly flat as ice.
"No," he said, pushing himself upright, hands slipping out of his sleeves. "Before that, I need to confirm whether the person under that cloak is actually 'Danzō' at all."
The room's temperature seemed to drop.
Everyone's attention sharpened.
"If I'm not mistaken," Orochimaru went on, "Danzō has been 'missing' for about a week now."
His eyes glinted like scalpels.
*"In that time, no one has seen him. And a week later, this 'Danzō' appears. But his outline, his way of walking, his speech patterns, his tone, his bones… all of it has changed. Drastically.
"It's hard not to suspect,"* he said, voice turning razor-sharp, "that you are either not Danzō… or not only Danzō. Perhaps an infiltrator, hm?"
"Don't talk nonsense! Slander! Orochimaru!"
Danzō almost exploded, humiliation and panic tangling on his tongue. "I am Danzō! I don't have to prove anything to you!"
That reaction only deepened everyone's doubts.
Even Hiruzen's brows drew together. Suspicion flickered in his eyes.
"Danzō," he said slowly, "I think Orochimaru raises a valid concern. And what we're discussing now concerns the future safety of Konoha. So I must ask you to remove the cloak and let us confirm it with our own eyes."
"Hiruzen…"
Danzō's teeth ground so hard his jaw ached. For a moment, he genuinely considered spontaneous combustion.
He had never hated this teacher–student pair more in his life.
"Since you're unwilling," Orochimaru said pleasantly, taking a step forward, "why don't I help you?"
"W–wait! Wait!"
Danzō's voice shot up an octave; the mask shattered in an instant. The sharp, delicate tone that came out this time was unmistakably feminine.
That sound made Hiruzen's pupils contract.
Anger flared bright and hot.
"How bold," he snapped. "You dare wear a mask in front of me? Show us your true form!"
Age hadn't robbed him of everything.
The Third Hokage might be old, but he was still the Hokage.
His body blurred; in the blink of an eye, he'd stepped out from behind his desk and flashed across the room with the Body Flicker Technique, faster than most of the jōnin present could track.
His hand hooked like a talon, clamping onto the front of Danzō's cloak.
"I want to see," Hiruzen growled, "who dares impersonate Danzō Shimura in my village, before my very eyes!"
"No—!"
Danzō's shriek could probably have cracked glass. He lunged to stop him, but it was far, far too late.
The black fabric flew.
The cloak billowed up, then drifted down to the floor.
What it revealed turned the entire office to stone.
Standing where the commander of Root should have been was a woman.
Roughly in her mid-160s in height, with curves that would have broken lesser men's self-control. Her features were striking despite her apparent age: eyes like dark autumn water, brows arched just so, lips with natural color, and a presence that radiated ripe, dangerous charm.
Her chest strained against her clothes in two bold, unmistakable arcs. Her waist was narrow, her legs long and well-shaped—a body designed to kill on sight.
Her skin was smooth and pale with a faint blush beneath it, like it would be soft and warm to the touch.
Even Hiruzen Sarutobi—who had definitely seen his fair share of beautiful women—blanked for half a second.
…Damn, he thought reflexively, a little dazed. She's… something.
Somewhere, faintly, there was the sound of shattering glass.
That would be Danzō's pride, breaking into a thousand tiny shards.
For a long heartbeat, no one spoke. No one moved.
Danzō stood frozen, wrapped in a stranger's flawless body like a curse, under the searing stare of half of Konoha's leadership.
Inside, he felt nothing.
No anger. No shame. No fear.
Just an all-encompassing, bone-deep desire to dig a deep, dark hole, crawl inside… and have someone fill it in.
Right now, compared to living like this… dying quickly almost sounded merciful.
He had finally achieved it.
Real, textbook, irreversible—
social death.
◇ BONUS & SUPPORT ◇
◇ 1 bonus chapter for every 10 reviews — drop a comment!
◇ 1 bonus chapter for every 100 Power Stones.
◇ Read 60 chapters ahead on P@treon → patreon.com/StrawHatStudios