With the ascension of Konoha's Fourth Hokage, the turbulent shinobi world seemed to have hit pause.
Even the minor skirmishes between the various factions gradually ceased. Iwagakure and Kumogakure, in particular, showed remarkable tacit understanding as both sides quietly withdrew their forces.
There was no ceasefire agreement. No negotiations. The two villages simply collected their dead and retreated with their grudges intact, like two wounded wolves returning to their dens to lick their wounds alone.
The war was far from over. They simply no longer had the strength—or the will—to continue fighting.
Konoha had already begun its recovery. Even the change of Hokage, an event that could have caused massive internal upheaval, was completed without fanfare.
This reality put enormous pressure on the other two great villages.
The ceasefire was thus completed in mutual, unspoken agreement.
Not long after, the Fourth Raikage, A, formally took office. Kumogakure became the third village, after Sunagakure and Konoha, to enter the era of its Fourth Kage.
Shortly afterward, intelligence networks across the villages received the latest news from Kirigakure.
The Third Mizukage had stepped down due to health issues, and Yagura of the Yuki clan had succeeded him as Fourth Mizukage.
The news came so suddenly that every village that received it was shocked.
Unfortunately, the Land of Water was an island nation, and Kirigakure was extremely insular. None of the villages could gather detailed intelligence. All they knew was that on the night in question, there had apparently been a brief battle at the Mizukage's building. Before any intelligence operatives could react, the fighting had already ended.
The very next day, news spread that Yagura had become the Fourth Mizukage.
At this point, all five great shinobi villages except Iwagakure had entered the era of their Fourth Kage.
Inside the Tsuchikage's building.
The air in Third Tsuchikage Ōnoki's office felt as heavy as solid rock.
Piles of scrolls and documents silently testified to the burden of governing a shinobi village. Behind the large stone desk sat a small figure, currently trembling with rage.
Crash.
A sharp, grating sound shattered the silence.
The delicate celadon teacup shattered in Ōnoki's calloused hands, sending hot tea and tea leaves splashing across the carpet and leaving dark stains—like the boiling anger in Ōnoki's heart.
"Useless! Completely useless!"
Ōnoki shot to his feet. His small frame shook violently with fury, his weathered face flushed red. His thin fingers nearly jabbed into the nose of the tall man standing across the desk. His voice was hoarse with emotion, carrying the roar of someone furious at a disappointing child.
"How did I end up with such a brainless son?! Roshi!"
Standing before him was his son, Roshi.
The burly, honest-looking man currently resembled a silent mountain, his face showing clear confusion and a trace of hurt.
He instinctively shrank his neck, as if his father's trembling finger carried the power to pierce through solid rock.
"Father," Roshi said hesitantly, but still voiced what was on his mind, "I think what they said… does make some sense.
Look at Sarutobi Hiruzen of Konoha. He's a few years younger than you, and he's already stepped down and passed the Hokage position to Namikaze Minato. I really don't want to see you at your age still working so hard every day. You'll ruin your health."
His tone was sincere, his eyes filled with pure concern—the genuine heartache of a son for his father.
However, what Roshi saw as perfectly reasonable filial piety sounded to Ōnoki like the most grating provocation and the height of stupidity.
If any other jonin or elder in Iwagakure had said these words, Ōnoki would have immediately judged it as a signal of intent to seize power and punished them without hesitation.
But the one saying it was his only son—a honest, powerful, yet politically clueless man who could be sold and still help count the money.
Even so, the volcanic rage in Ōnoki's chest nearly erupted.
He knew his son too well. These words were not the result of Roshi's own careful thought.
There had to be people hiding in the shadows—those who didn't dare challenge his authority directly—using his honest son as a pawn to test the waters and pry at his power.
They were treating Roshi like a fool!
"Step down? Hah!"
Ōnoki laughed in extreme anger, the sound filled with sarcasm and exhaustion. He forcefully suppressed the urge to flip his entire office and fixed his son with an icy stare, veins bulging at his temples.
"Fine! I'll step down! Then tell me—who's going to become the Fourth Tsuchikage? You, Roshi?!"
He stared hard into his son's eyes, his gaze sharp as a blade. Deep inside, a faint, almost pathetic trace of hope flickered—something he didn't even want to admit to himself.
If his son could straighten his back right now and firmly say "Yes," even if it was just a moment of impulse or courage, Ōnoki might actually consider letting go and retiring, using his experience and prestige to support his son from behind the scenes.
Unfortunately—
"Huh? No! No, Father!"
Roshi was so startled by the direct question that he waved his hands frantically. His large frame looked clumsy in his panic, his face filled with "That's impossible" terror.
"I— I'm not cut out for that! I can't do it! Absolutely not!"
He denied it in a rush, as if the position of Tsuchikage was a scorching hot potato he desperately wanted to avoid. "Father, how about… you find a more suitable successor in the village?"
"You—!" Ōnoki's last shred of hope was completely crushed, replaced by towering rage at being manipulated and despair at his son's uselessness.
He straightened his small but proud back—the back that had carried Iwagakure's rise and fall for decades—and tried to overwhelm his disappointing son with sheer presence.
However, age waits for no one. Years of hard work and old injuries from countless battles chose this moment to strike back at the "Two Scales."
Crack.
A clear, teeth-gritting sound came from Ōnoki's lower back.
"Gah! Ow ow ow ow ow! My old back—!"
The intense, stabbing pain instantly drowned out all his anger. Ōnoki's face twisted in agony, his imposing aura vanishing completely.
He hunched over in pain, one hand clutching his lower back as large beads of cold sweat rolled down his forehead and into the deep wrinkles of his face.
The mighty Tsuchikage was now reduced to groaning and gasping like an ordinary injured old man, all dignity gone.
And Roshi—the "filial son" who still hadn't realized he was the trigger—saw his father's suffering and, instead of shutting up, poured even more oil on the fire in his concern.
"Look at you, old man! Your body is already like this, and you're still forcing yourself to work?! You should step down and rest properly! Taking care of your health is what matters most! The Tsuchikage position isn't as important as your body!"
"Shut up! You— you—!" Ōnoki's vision went black from the pain. Listening to his son's "concerned" stupidity made blood rush to his head. He felt like he was about to faint from anger.
With one hand still clutching his back, he raised the other and pointed at the office door with a trembling finger, forcing out a roar through gritted teeth with the last of his strength:
"Get out! Get out right now! I don't want to see your face for even one more second! Get out!"
Roshi finally realized—belatedly—that he had caused a major disaster. A clumsy, apologetic expression appeared on his face.
He opened his mouth, seemingly wanting to explain or offer more concern, but under his father's murderous glare, he closed it again. His large frame drooped as he shuffled out of the office, looking back every few steps.
Thud.
The soft sound of the door closing echoed clearly in the empty office, cutting off everything outside.
Ōnoki was left alone, hunched over, enduring waves of sharp pain in his lower back and the cold exhaustion in his heart.
He leaned against the cold stone desk for a long time until the nerve-tearing pain eased slightly. Then he dragged his leaden legs and staggered back to the chair that symbolized power.
"Sigh…"
A heavy sigh escaped Ōnoki's dry throat, echoing through the empty room. It was filled with the melancholy of a hero past his prime and deep helplessness.
How he wished he could be like Sarutobi Hiruzen—find a worthy successor, lay down this heavy burden, and enjoy his later years.
But harsh reality, like cold stone, had blocked that path.
Iwagakure… was suffering from a severe lack of talent.
Looking around the village, factions were divided, elders each had their own agendas, and while there were powerful jonin, they either lacked political wisdom and boldness like Roshi, or were ambitious but narrow-minded and unfit for the role.
There was no one like Namikaze Minato was to Konoha—someone with overwhelming strength, convincing prestige, and the vision to unite all sides and lead the village forward.
The successor to the Third Tsuchikage needed not only power, but also the ability to balance Iwagakure's complex internal forces and lead the village through the drastic changes in the shinobi world.
Forcing someone into the position? Ōnoki could already foresee the disastrous consequences. The delicate balance Iwagakure had barely maintained would shatter instantly.
At that point, Iwagakure would no longer be the fearsome "Will of Stone" that struck terror into its enemies. It would collapse into terrifying internal strife and become a wounded, vulnerable target.
And who wouldn't want to take a bite out of such easy prey?
"Damn it!" Ōnoki gritted his teeth and slammed his fist on the hard stone desk. His knuckles throbbed, but the pain was nothing compared to the frustration in his heart. "Who the hell is behind this—whispering in Roshi's ear and making that idiot say such nonsense?! They're truly… asking for death!"
A month passed in the blink of an eye.
The sky over Konoha was a clear, brilliant blue. Sunlight filtered through the leaves, casting scattered golden spots on the ground. The air carried a sweet, warm feeling different from usual.
The storms of the shinobi world seemed temporarily shut out beyond the village. Today, for Fourth Hokage Namikaze Minato, was a day as important as his ascension to the Hokage seat—perhaps even more private and joyful.
It was his wedding day with Uzumaki Kushina.
Following their original simple and modest plan, since neither had any living relatives, they had only wanted to invite their closest few people: the Sannin, Sarutobi Hiruzen, and Minato's trusted subordinates like Kakashi, Akimichi Choza, Yamanaka Inoichi, and Nara Shikaku—for a warm, small ceremony in a cozy courtyard.
However, a Hokage's wedding was never going to be simple.
On the morning of the wedding, while Minato and Kushina were still making their final preparations, the major clans of Konoha seemed to have coordinated in advance. One after another, they sent high-ranking representatives carrying gifts to offer their congratulations.
Hyuga Hiashi, the clan head, personally came with his younger brother Hizashi.
Uchiha Fugaku arrived with his wife Mikoto and eldest son Itachi.
The heads of the Ino-Shika-Cho trio came together.
Even the Aburame, Inuzuka, and Sarutobi clans sent people—along with representatives from some smaller clans that were usually inactive.
In an instant, the originally planned small courtyard became packed and lively.
"Minato! Congratulations!" Jiraiya's loud voice could be heard from far away. He was carrying an enormous scroll—clearly a carefully prepared gift—with an unconcealed look of pride and satisfaction on his face.
Tsunade complained about "brats getting married being so troublesome," but she had still put on a proper dress. Her eyes kept drifting toward the alcohol area.
Orochimaru did not appear in person, but sent a tightly wrapped gift through someone else, carrying an air of mystery.
Sarutobi Hiruzen, dressed in casual clothes, sat near the main seat with a broad smile, enjoying the rare festive atmosphere.
The groom, Minato, wore traditional formal attire. His golden hair shone brilliantly under the sunlight, and his face wore his signature warm smile as he tried to greet every guest offering congratulations.
However, the number and enthusiasm of the guests far exceeded expectations. Even someone with the speed of the "Yellow Flash" was struggling to keep up.
With the wedding ceremony about to begin, the groom's side was clearly short-handed.
Minato's close subordinates were either maintaining order (Kakashi stood at the entrance with his usual "keep away" expression), moving supplies (Choza was wrestling with a giant sake barrel), or being pulled into conversations by other clan representatives (Shikaku and Inoichi were surrounded by several smaller clan envoys).
"Taiichi! Taiichi! Over here!"
Minato's sharp eyes spotted Taiichi, who had just entered the courtyard and seemed to be looking for a quiet corner to watch the ceremony. He immediately called out loudly, as if grabbing a lifeline.
Taiichi had dressed unusually today—not in combat gear or work clothes, but in a simple deep-blue kimono. He had hoped to stay low-key and simply enjoy his friend's happiness. Hearing Minato's urgent call, his heart skipped a beat with a bad premonition, but his feet still moved toward him.
"Congratulations, Hokage-sama," Taiichi had barely opened his mouth when Minato grabbed his arm and pulled him into the center of the crowd.
"Taiichi, save me!" Minato lowered his voice, his face showing a mix of happiness and exasperation.
"There are way too many people. I'm seriously short on hands here. Kakashi and the others are all busy with other things, and Shikaku's group got dragged into conversations. Please—help me out!
You're one of the people I trust most. Today, I'm asking you to stand in as my representative and help greet the guests, especially the clan representatives. I really can't handle it all!"
Looking at the sincere plea in Minato's eyes, Taiichi found that the words "I just wanted to quietly attend the banquet" refused to come out.
Ah… no matter where I go, I still end up working.
He let out a helpless sigh and nodded in resignation.
"Understood, Fourth Hokage—wait, no. Today you're the groom. Minato. Leave it to me."
And so, the "White Reaper" of the battlefield was temporarily conscripted as the wedding's "groom's representative and temporary manager."