"Mother!"
"Renge…"
Inside Natsuhiko's residence, he tilted his head slightly, watching as Senju Renge clung to her mother, the two of them weeping in each other's arms as though the world beyond that embrace had ceased to exist. For a moment he said nothing, then quietly turned and stepped outside, leaving them the privacy they so clearly needed.
When he emerged, he found Senju Shōma already waiting for him, standing where he had been all along, as if unwilling to intrude yet unable to leave.
This time, when they had gone to retrieve Renge's mother, Shōma had come in person. Summoned early in the morning by Natsuhiko, he had accompanied him to Senju Ryōta's residence—and what he witnessed there had left a deeper impression than he cared to admit. Only now did he fully grasp just how far the young man he had raised had come.
Even now, Ryōta had yet to recover from the ordeal. The look in his eyes when he faced Natsuhiko had been a tangled mixture—astonishment, fear, and the hollow relief of someone who had narrowly escaped ruin. Hatred, notably, was absent. It was easy enough to imagine why. Whatever he had endured, it had been enough to strip such thoughts from him entirely.
"Elder," Natsuhiko greeted with a slight nod, his voice calm, even warm. "Thank you for your help. This matter can be considered settled."
"Yes… settled," Shōma echoed, letting out a faint sigh. "Though Natsuhiko, your methods…"
"Extraordinary times call for extraordinary measures," Natsuhiko interrupted gently, his smile unchanged. "And besides, I handled it as Senju Natsuhiko—not as Nightingale of the ANBU. I'd say I showed considerable restraint."
Restraint?
The word echoed in Shōma's mind, and the corner of his mouth twitched despite himself.
Dragging an entire family before a man and forcing him to choose—his wife or his son—and calling that restraint…? Even if Ryōta's actions had been despicable, enough to provoke righteous anger, Shōma knew with painful clarity that he himself could never have gone that far.
Still, there was one small mercy. Natsuhiko had acted under the name of the Senju clan.
Had he gone as a member of the ANBU instead, Shōma would likely have received news at dawn that Senju Ryōta had defected—and been exterminated to the last.
"…Very well," Shōma said at last, exhaling slowly. "I won't dwell on it. To think that an old friend would come to this… it's not something I ever expected."
Natsuhiko smiled faintly, his tone light but edged with something sharper beneath. "Sarutobi Hiruzen was the Second Hokage's disciple, yet look at how things turned out. People are rarely as simple as they appear, Elder—you of all people should know that by now."
Shōma fell silent for a moment, then lifted his gaze, studying the young man before him with quiet intensity.
"And you?" he asked softly. "Do I truly know you?"
"No," Natsuhiko replied without hesitation, his voice calm and unadorned. "You never have."
There was no deception in his words, no attempt to soften them. He met Shōma's gaze steadily, the faint smile still lingering as he continued.
"In the beginning, I didn't have grand ambitions. When the war broke out and I realized I couldn't avoid it, all I wanted was to find a place where I could survive it—somewhere relatively safe."
He paused briefly, his senses spreading outward, silently sweeping the surroundings before he resumed walking. With an almost casual gesture, he motioned for Shōma to follow, his voice lowering as he continued.
"I remember thinking that the administrative division would suit me. And if not that, then perhaps I could make myself useful at the Academy. But the ANBU…" He let out a faint breath. "I never intended to join them. Yet in the end, you were the one who sent me there."
"Yes," Shōma admitted quietly, a trace of weariness in his voice. "That was my decision. As a child of the Senju, you cannot simply turn away from such responsibilities."
Natsuhiko did not immediately respond. He merely walked on beneath the dimming sky, his expression unreadable—somewhere between reflection and quiet resolve—as if the path he now followed had long since ceased to be one he could choose to leave.
"Yes… a child of the Senju cannot turn away," Natsuhiko said, his smile widening, though the warmth in it had long since turned to something sharper, edged with quiet mockery. "And that is precisely why so few of us remain."
He let out a soft breath, as though brushing aside a thought too familiar to dwell on.
"Add to that a series of 'necessary' policies, and you have the state of the Senju today. But there's no need to linger on that. I understood early on that I had no real choice—so I entered the ANBU."
His voice remained calm, almost reflective, yet beneath it ran a current of iron certainty.
"In those years, I learned a great deal… and came to understand even more. Above all, I realized one thing: I must seize control of my own fate."
For a fleeting moment, something colder passed through his gaze.
"I have seen too much death. Enough to know that survival demands strength, so I fought my way up and became a squad leader. But a squad leader is still nothing more than a minor piece on the board—it does nothing to change one's destiny. And I grew tired of being just that… a piece to be moved at another's whim."
He paused, as if weighing his own thoughts before continuing.
"So I began to think—how could I repay the Senju for raising me, how could I help restore the clan to its former heights… and at the same time ensure that I held the initiative in my own hands? Not merely a pawn, but someone capable of leading the game itself."
His gaze drifted outward then, toward something far beyond the present moment.
"In the end, I found my answer: power, and strength—both must exist together. And as for my goal…"
He fell silent.
Shōma had been listening without interruption, but when he noticed the direction of Natsuhiko's gaze, something stirred within him. Almost unconsciously, he followed it.
The sun burned high in the sky, its radiance spilling across the land, and in the distance, bathed in that early brilliance, stood the towering visage of the Hokage Rock—solemn, imposing, eternal.
The answer was already there, written plainly across that stone.
Natsuhiko's goal… was the seat of Hokage.
The realization settled in Shōma's chest with startling clarity, and before he could give voice to it, Natsuhiko spoke again, confirming what needed no confirmation.
"My goal is the position of Hokage."
His tone was gentle, yet resolute, carrying no trace of hesitation.
"Only by becoming Hokage can I become the one who carries the banner, instead of a pawn pushed from place to place. Only then can I truly change the fate of the Senju."
He exhaled softly, as if recalling the weight of that decision.
"When I first arrived at this conclusion, I was uncertain. I knew how difficult such a path would be. But what of it? Nothing is accomplished without effort. If I do not try, if I do not act, then success becomes impossible from the very beginning."
A faint smile curved his lips.
"So I entered the selection for division commander. I revealed things I had long intended to keep hidden, and made… certain interesting choices along the way."
His voice drifted like a quiet current, steady and unhurried, yet his gaze never left the distant Hokage Rock. The smile on his face seemed bright, almost radiant—yet for reasons difficult to name, it sent a chill through the air.
"And now, I understand much more clearly what must be done. For one, the path ahead leaves no room for disorder behind me. If I am to contend for the position of Hokage, then everything at my back must be firmly under control."
He spoke as though laying out steps already set in motion.
"I will rise from squad leader to division commander… and from there, ascend to the head of the ANBU itself."
"I must step out of the shadows and into the light," Natsuhiko continued, his voice steady, carrying a quiet inevitability. "And for that, I cannot afford even the slightest flaw—nor will I allow one to exist."
There was no hesitation in his words now, only resolve sharpened by experience.
"Even if I would rather avoid it, the time has come for me to take hold of the Senju… not in name alone, but in truth. To command this clan, fully and without ambiguity."
At last, he turned his gaze back to Shōma, calm and unyielding.
"Now, Elder Shōma… do you understand me?"
To lay everything bare like this was, in truth, not unexpected for Natsuhiko. He had long understood that if he did not intend to stand in outright opposition to the man who had raised him, then there were things that had to be said—clearly, without concealment.
It was a cruel necessity, one he neither liked nor took any pleasure in, yet he also knew that the path he had chosen allowed no retreat. Having stepped onto it, he could only continue forward.
What eased him, if only slightly, was Shōma's response.
The elder had remained silent throughout, absorbing every word without interruption, but in the end, he gave a faint nod.
It was not wholehearted approval, but it was acknowledgment—an acceptance of Natsuhiko's reasoning, and to some extent, of his methods.
That alone carried immense weight.
With Shōma's recognition, Natsuhiko no longer needed to contemplate turning against the man who had raised him, nor did he need to fracture the Senju further by clashing with the rest of the clan. As the de facto leader of the Senju, Shōma's stance would allow him to unify the clan through influence rather than force, shaping it into what Natsuhiko required.
And yet… it was not complete acceptance.
But for now, it was enough.
Natsuhiko understood the reason well enough. Shōma still harbored reservations—after all, Natsuhiko was, at present, only a division commander.
Unless I go further… unless I prove beyond doubt that I can see this through to the end, he thought quietly, it would be foolish of him not to hold something back.
As he walked through the streets of Konoha, sunlight spilling across the village in warm, golden tones, Natsuhiko turned these thoughts over in his mind, considering what his next step should be—how, precisely, he might advance further.
One problem stood out above the rest: Murashima Takumi.
As long as that man lived, the position of ANBU Commander would remain out of reach.
After a moment, Natsuhiko exhaled softly and shook his head, as if brushing away the weight of overthinking.
Why dwell on it so much? When the Nine-Tails appears, I'll simply seize the opportunity, eliminate him, and make it look as though he fell to the beast.
Lifting his gaze, he looked up at the blazing sun overhead, its brilliance almost blinding, and let out a quiet breath. There was still much he had to do—far more than could be resolved in a single step.
Yet for now, there was at least a measure of calm.
By bringing Senju Renge's mother back, he had effectively ensured the woman would remain compliant. At the same time, with Senju Ryōta forced into collapse under his pressure, one of the ANBU operatives that had been under Ryōta's control was now freed from his grasp.
More than that, Natsuhiko had delivered a message—one that would echo through the scattered members of the Senju clan who held influence in the hidden corners of Konoha.
A warning.
They were not to set their sights on him.
If they did, their fate would be no better than Ryōta's—perhaps far worse.
This had been the first time Natsuhiko had truly bared his fangs. Even if the aftermath had been left for Shōma to handle, the intent behind it was unmistakable.
As for the one who would take Ryōta's place…
A faint, almost amused smile touched Natsuhiko's lips.
Uesugi Gen…
He hadn't expected it would be an old acquaintance stepping into that role.
Uesugi Gen had been the one who first guided Natsuhiko onto the path of a shinobi. The thought that his former teacher would now step in to replace Senju Ryōta was, to Natsuhiko, a source of quiet satisfaction.
Though he did not yet know where Gen truly stood, he felt no particular concern. If Senju Shōma were to fully yield and align himself with Natsuhiko's direction, then it would only be natural for Uesugi Gen—given their past—to incline toward him as well.
With no clear destination in mind, Natsuhiko wandered aimlessly through the streets. After parting ways with Shōma, he found himself unwilling to return home. The matter of settling Renge and her mother held no appeal for him; it was something better left in Renge's own hands. So long as they did not intrude into his room, he had no interest in involving himself further.
As he walked, lost in thought, something stirred at the edge of his awareness.
"Hmm?"
An old man was approaching him from ahead—someone Natsuhiko recognized at a glance. And beside him trailed a child, no more than eight or nine years old. The sight prompted a flicker of curiosity in Natsuhiko's mind.
Could that boy be Uchiha Shin's grandson?
"Mr. Natsuhiko, it's been quite some time."
The old man approached him directly, greeting him with a genial smile. "I hadn't expected to run into you here."
Perhaps the memory of their last encounter still lingered, for this time Uchiha Shin made no attempt at subtlety or theatrics. He came openly, plainly, without pretense. It made the meeting feel more natural… and yet, paradoxically, far more conspicuous.
Natsuhiko's brows knit faintly, though the expression passed as quickly as it came. He inclined his head in acknowledgment, offering a polite but distant greeting.
Shin, however, seemed unbothered by the coolness of his response. Maintaining his smile, he continued, "Mr. Natsuhiko, I was wondering if you might have a moment—"
"Let's find somewhere quieter," Natsuhiko interjected after a brief pause, his tone mild but decisive. "Don't you think this is a bit too… conspicuous?"
Shin's lips twitched almost imperceptibly. The last time, he had been too discreet and was treated as a threat; now, being more open had earned him the opposite criticism. Dealing with this young man was proving… unexpectedly difficult.
Still, he had come with a purpose, and so he nodded without protest, following Natsuhiko toward a nearby teahouse.
This time, Shin remained acutely aware of his surroundings, his gaze subtly sweeping the area. He had no desire to repeat his previous experience—where an entire teahouse had, without warning, become saturated with ANBU operatives watching his every move.
He had since given the matter considerable thought. Such a display was not the work of an ordinary shinobi. Just as Natsuhiko had implied before, he was anything but ordinary—even within the ANBU.
Most likely… a division commander.
Once seated, Natsuhiko tapped his fingers lightly against the table, the soft sound cutting through the quiet.
"So," he said, his voice calm, almost casual, "what brings you to me this time?"
Shin hesitated, his usual composure giving way to a trace of caution. "Captain Natsuhiko… I apologize for troubling you again. I was hoping to inquire about—"
"The ANBU slot?" Natsuhiko tilted his head slightly, a faint smile forming.
Shin's eyes flickered. "Yes… if I may ask—"
"You may have one," Natsuhiko replied smoothly, his tone unhurried, yet carrying an unmistakable finality. "It will be under my authority. As for who receives it…" He paused, the faint smile lingering as his gaze settled on Shin. "…that decision rests with me."
He let the words hang in the air, clear and unambiguous.
"Do you understand?"