Chapter 254: What Kind of Occasion Is This? Where's Your Shinobi Gear!
Endless yellow sand.
The moment they crossed into the Land of Wind, that vast, boundless desert filled the horizon.
Over twenty thousand shinobi had now stepped onto this arid wasteland, and the brutal climate was already leaving no shortage of them physically miserable.
But the physical discomfort was the lesser problem. What weighed on everyone far more was the psychological strain.
The instant the various factions converged in one place, the air was already thick with tension.
Not aimed at the approaching enemy, but at the "allies" standing right beside them.
Konoha. Kumogakure. Kirigakure. Iwagakure. Sunagakure. Amegakure.
Six factions gathered here, and cold, murderous glances flickered constantly between countless pairs of eyes.
If not for a hastily assembled disciplinary unit keeping order, a full-blown riot might have broken out the very first day.
"This isn't sustainable, going on like this."
With more than ten thousand troops encamped across a stretch of level ground, Gaara murmured quietly to himself, watching the shinobi around him — silent, but each of them tense and preoccupied with their own tasks.
Right now, the nerves of every faction present were strung as tight as a bowstring — one wrong move, and the fallout would be severe.
And it wasn't just the Five Great Villages. Even Hanzō the Salamander's Amegakure contingent carried the same tension.
After all, the Second Great Ninja War had itself been sparked by this very demigod's frustration with the Land of Rain's endless, oppressive humidity — and his own ambition to build the Land of Rain into a sixth Great Village.
Back then, an ambitious young Hanzō had declared war on Iwagakure, Sunagakure, and Konoha, all three at once, simultaneously.
That era had marked Amegakure's absolute peak of glory.
More than a few of the older shinobi present had lived through that period firsthand.
"Morale's hard to manage here..."
Ōnoki, gazing at what should have been the largest coalition force in shinobi history, looked instead at a force that felt more like a bomb ready to detonate at any moment, his expression heavy with concern.
"If we don't address the morale problem, then by the time we actually face Mōryō's army, I fear—"
Even Utakata, notoriously indifferent to most things, looked troubled at the thought.
"Someone needs to bring this army's spirit together as one."
Ōnoki agreed.
Easier said than done, of course. Trying to set aside years — decades — of grievances built up across four Great Ninja Wars through nothing but a few words, and get everyone fighting side by side against a common enemy, sounded like an absolute fantasy.
Sakura sat alone off to the side, taking no part in the discussion, her mind occupied instead with Tsuchidai, who'd returned that morning via Flying Thunder God.
He'd brought word that Mōryō had agreed to the deal.
Kakashi, Darui, and Temari — traded for Shion.
After all, with Shion firmly in the coalition's hands, there was no way Mōryō would abandon his own physical body.
But if the coalition was thinking about striking during the hostage exchange, did they really think Mōryō was a fool?
He'd surely be planning something of his own for that exact moment.
And given that Mōryō could sense Shion's location at will, there was no chance of fooling him with Tarusuke disguised as Shion instead.
Shion herself would have to be the one to appear.
Which meant the risk here was substantially higher than it looked.
If they urgently summoned Tobirama Senju to handle this—
There simply wasn't enough time for that.
"Lord Hokage. What's your take on this?"
Just then, Ōnoki's voice cut through Sakura's train of thought.
"Hm?"
"My take on what?"
Sakura looked up at the old man.
"Morale. How do we stabilize it?"
Ōnoki fixed his gaze on the Fifth Hokage, a hint of genuine anticipation in his eyes.
She'd built her rise entirely on cunning schemes and ruthless calculation, and had personally laid the foundation for Konoha's renewed dominance.
If there was anyone among the current five Kage who inspired real confidence in Ōnoki, it was, without question, this pink-haired girl.
Gaara was young and earnest. Killer Bee kept dutifully within his lane. And Utakata had been forced into the Mizukage seat against his will in the first place.
Ōnoki simply didn't have much faith in the Kazekage, Raikage, or Mizukage on this front.
"Morale?"
"Have Gaara handle it."
Sakura shook her head slightly and simply tossed the problem straight over to Gaara.
Gaara blinked, momentarily stunned.
Me? He wants ME to handle this?
"..."
Ōnoki, for a moment, found himself at a loss for words too.
Handing a situation this delicate over to a sixteen-year-old Kazekage — how was he supposed to feel reassured by that?
One misstep, and it might well detonate the powder keg of hatred sitting inside these twenty thousand shinobi right then and there.
"Lord Hokage..."
Gaara opened his mouth, clearly wanting to protest but hesitating.
He was genuinely a little touched that this Hokage seemed to trust his ability this much — but handing him this, right now?
Please, spare me...
Gaara had enough self-awareness to know his limits. If it were just Sunagakure's own troops, he could absolutely rally their spirits.
But with six entire factions in play...
A single spit from each of them alone could drown him.
"The Kazekage is certainly capable, but he's still too young for something like this."
Ōnoki shook his head at Sakura's suggestion.
"Old man. Don't forget — I'm the same age as Gaara."
Sakura pointed at herself, reminding him.
That left Ōnoki swallowing whatever he'd been about to say next.
You're the same age as Gaara, sure — but can Gaara actually be compared to you?
Even though no one had said it aloud, the reality was plain as day.
Right now, the most feared, most renowned name across the entire shinobi world belonged to this sixteen-year-old girl.
Even Gaara, her fellow Kage in name, fell short of her in strength, temperament, and cunning alike.
Just as Ōnoki and the others sat mulling this over, a familiar figure suddenly appeared in Sakura's line of sight — and was already walking straight toward her.
"What are you doing here?"
Sakura's fine pink brows arched slightly at the sight.
"Just came to check things out, see if there's anything I can help with."
Jiraiya scratched his head, laughing heartily.
"So it's you."
Ōnoki glanced at the uninvited guest but didn't say much. Right now, more combat power on hand was always welcome, whoever it came from.
"Old man, what's with that miserable face of yours? What's got you thinking so hard?"
"Come on, spill it, let's have a laugh~~~"
Jiraiya strode right up and clapped Ōnoki on the shoulder without a shred of hesitation, making Ōnoki's teeth ache faintly at the contact.
This one...
What kind of student had Hiruzen Sarutobi raised, exactly — absolutely no sense of decorum, doesn't even know how to show a senior proper respect.
Just as Ōnoki was about to explain the situation to Jiraiya, the man's eyes lit up, spotting someone quietly trying to blend into the background in a corner — Hiruko.
"Oho, isn't that Hanzō?"
"You see me, and you don't even say hello?"
Jiraiya beamed, sauntering right over to Hiruko.
For him, this kind of unified shinobi-world cooperation was something entirely unprecedented — and as the idealist he was, it had drawn him into this fight against Mōryō almost immediately.
Whatever else happened, so long as the whole shinobi world was working together, Jiraiya was determined to lend a hand.
"You..."
Hiruko, watching Jiraiya's overly familiar grin, ground his teeth slightly.
This bastard. Twenty-some years, and he's still exactly this insufferable.
"Huh?"
"You're pushing eighty now, old man, and yet somehow your temper's gotten shorter than it used to be."
Jiraiya rubbed his chin, looking at Hiruko with mild confusion.
At that, Hiruko's chest tightened, and his expression cooled sharply.
"Hmph. You haven't changed one bit either, kid."
Jiraiya, hearing that, felt nothing off about it whatsoever, chatted with Hiruko for a few more minutes, then wandered back to Sakura's side, chuckling.
This guy...
Something's off about him.
Back when he'd fought that demigod alongside Tsunade and Orochimaru, he genuinely hadn't said much of anything at the time.
Fair enough — the fight had been intense, facing a formidable enemy, and he hadn't been in the mood to chat about anything else.
So where had "haven't changed one bit" come from?
Seeing Jiraiya return, Ōnoki, resigned, filled him in on the coalition's morale crisis.
"Well, in that case, leave it to me!"
At that, Jiraiya set aside the matter of Hanzō the Salamander for the moment, intending to bring it up privately with Sakura later.
Right now, the coalition's morale problem took priority.
If there was even the slightest chance, he wasn't about to give up on the possibility of everyone here coming to understand each other.
However small that chance might be.
He'd give everything he had for it.
"Trust me, I will absolutely—"
"Shut up."
Seeing Jiraiya gearing up to take the whole thing entirely on himself, Sakura shot him a flat glare.
She didn't even need to think about it — Jiraiya was obviously about to launch into that same laughably naive theory of his.
People understanding each other?
Even the Sage of the Six Paths himself had never managed that. Not even Naruto — the so-called Child of Prophecy Jiraiya had staked so much faith in, in the original story — had ever fully pulled it off.
The only time the shinobi coalition had ever truly stood united was that single moment facing the Ten-Tails — and even then, that unity had only been possible thanks to chakra's inherent connective quality, forced open by a shared, overwhelming enemy.
But that kind of "mutual understanding" was fleeting. A single blossom, gone the next moment.
Even after over a decade of peace across the shinobi world, how different, really, had things been from the era when Hashirama Senju himself was still alive?
The moment Naruto and Sasuke died, if not for the looming threat of the Ōtsutsuki clan, the Fifth Great Ninja War would probably have broken out immediately.
Because people gnawing on dry, barely edible rations out in some desert or mountain wasteland were never going to hold hands and become friends with people living in fertile, resource-rich land, just because someone told them to "understand each other."
Not unless you were willing to hand over half of everything you had.
And even then, driven by pure human greed, the other side would inevitably start wanting everything, eventually.
"Look at where we are right now."
"Where's your headband?"
"Where's your shinobi gear?"
"This is unacceptable. Get out of here."
"Go find Tsunade and get yourself a proper uniform."
Jiraiya blinked at Sakura, scratching his head in confusion.
What's gotten into her?
Early menopause or something?
"All right, all right, give me a minute, I'll be right back."
Jiraiya, utterly oblivious to the fact that Sakura was working hard to head off an incoming disaster, wandered off — though not before glancing back once at Hiruko, still sitting quietly in the corner.
Strange. I'll mention this guy to Tsunade later.
Watching Jiraiya leave, Ōnoki let out a sigh.
"Lord Hokage. Why exactly did you do that?"
Just when someone had finally volunteered to take this task off his hands, this Hokage had turned around and sent him off over some bizarre, flimsy excuse.
Shinobi gear? At a time like this, who cares about proper uniforms?
If Jiraiya could actually solve this problem, Ōnoki would gladly have fifty thousand custom uniforms commissioned and gifted to Konoha on the spot.
"If we let Jiraiya handle this, this coalition might as well pack up and go home."
Sakura, out of consideration for Jiraiya's dignity, had already phrased this as gently as she possibly could.
Go home?
Turn on each other, more like!
You think a few pretty words are enough to make people set aside the deaths of their family, friends, brothers, spouses, children?
Give me a break.
"What do you mean by that?"
Ōnoki frowned.
His understanding of Jiraiya was purely surface-level — flippant in manner, but genuinely formidable in strength, a shinobi whose reputation trailed only just behind the five Kage themselves.
He had no idea about Jiraiya's whole "mutual understanding" ideology.
"Never mind. I'll handle it myself."
Sakura rose to her feet, looking out at the distant camp — silent, still, like a graveyard.
"Hokage. Are you sure?"
Ōnoki stared at Sakura in open shock, and even Gaara and Utakata couldn't help but glance over.
"I'm sure. Old man, order everyone to assemble."
"All six factions, formed up separately, by their own villages."
Sakura had already worked out, in her own mind, exactly how she planned to stir this army's spirit.
Whether it would actually work, she couldn't say for certain — but it was still more reliable than either Jiraiya's naive idealism or simply doing nothing at all.
Can't bind their morale together into a single rope?
Fine. Forget binding it.
Not only would she not bind it — she was going to douse the whole tangled mess in oil and set it ablaze!
Let the fire burn hot. Let it rage completely out of control!
"Hokage. Are you certain about this."
Ōnoki asked again — this time, his earlier shock had given way to genuine, deep-seated gravity.
This felt like dancing on top of a raw egg. One misstep, and mutiny would follow instantly.
"So much talking. Just give the order already!"
"And get me a platform built while you're at it."
Sakura gave a cold laugh and strode out of the tent.
Behind her, the Kazekage, Raikage, Mizukage, and Tsuchikage followed close behind, each issuing their own orders in turn.
—
Yellow sand stretched endlessly under a blazing sun.
Over twenty thousand shinobi assembled into six formations of varying size across the desert.
Six thousand from Iwagakure. Five thousand from Sunagakure. Two thousand from Kirigakure. Two thousand from Kumogakure. Two thousand from Amegakure. And forty-five hundred from Konoha.
Twenty-one thousand five hundred shinobi in total.
A force this size, if truly united, could have swept across the entire shinobi world unopposed.
And right now, all twenty-some thousand of them stood in absolute silence across the vast desert, every face carrying the same cold detachment, eyes constantly drifting toward the other formations, an unmistakable flicker of hostility barely restrained beneath the surface.
Like some silent, savage beast, ready to erupt at any moment.
Except this particular beast's target was itself.
"Earth Release — Ground-Shaking Core."
Ōnoki formed a hand seal, and instantly, a platform nearly twenty meters tall rose out of the desert floor.
Without a moment's hesitation, Sakura planted a foot and leapt straight up onto it.
At Ōnoki's jutsu, every eye in the assembled army turned instinctively toward the spectacle.
Every gaze fixed unblinking on that single flash of pink.
Aside from the Konoha, Amegakure, and Iwagakure contingents, visible fear flickered across the faces of the shinobi from the Wind, Lightning, and Water villages.
No mystery why — that pink-haired silhouette had simply left too deep and terrible a mark on their collective memory.
Black Zetsu, disguised as Tsuchidai, watched the scene unfold from a distance, expression grave.
Why hasn't he shown himself?
Because he genuinely had no idea how to get this coalition to set aside its hatred toward one another.
It simply wasn't something achievable.
So he'd chosen not to show his face at all.
The red-and-white Hokage's robe snapped violently in the desert wind, and the Hokage's cold green eyes swept over everything laid out beneath her.
An invisible pressure radiated outward from her, spreading across the entire field.
Under that weight, not just the Wind, Lightning, and Water contingents — even Konoha's own shinobi found themselves swallowing hard.
Lord Hokage seems... genuinely terrifying today...
"You worthless bunch!"
At those words, not just Ōnoki, but Gaara, Killer Bee, and Utakata — even Jiraiya and Tsunade off in the distance, even Black Zetsu himself — all felt their expressions shift in an instant.
This Hokage has lost her mind!
(End of chapter)
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