What followed felt like a blurry, suffocating nightmare.
The funeral preparations, the solemn ceremony at the Memorial Stone, and the high-ranking officials delivering formulaic eulogies...
Everything was handled by the Hokage's office and the ANBU.
Kakashi was dressed in plain white mourning clothes, led like a puppet to his father's gravestone.
He listened as Hiruzen delivered the posthumous decree with a heavy voice full of praise, calling his father a "hero of Konoha," someone who "dedicated his life to the village," and "shall never be forgotten."
These words entered Kakashi's ears but stirred no emotion.
He watched his father's name be carved into the cold stone. Watched the coffin lowered into the ground.
Around him, the gazes varied—sympathy, pity, curiosity, even a few complex emotions difficult to describe. But none of it reached him.
His small body stood rigid, his face mostly hidden by his mask. Only his eyes were visible—once bright as stars, full of stubbornness and trust. Now, they held only bottomless darkness and emptiness.
All emotions, all light, had vanished along with his father's life.
He stood like a puppet whose strings had been cut. Hollow. Lifeless.
At the front of the mourning crowd, Tsunade wore a solemn black kimono. Her golden hair was tied up simply as she silently watched.
As the granddaughter of the First Hokage, Konoha's princess, her presence at Sakumo's funeral was both proper and expected.
But looking at Kakashi's small, stiff back, a familiar cold pain seized Tsunade's heart.
She remembered Mito, her grandfather, and her uncle... She understood the despair of losing someone irreplaceable.
But what surged in her now was not just sympathy, but a barely contained fury.
Just a few days ago, when the rumors against Sakumo began to circulate, she hadn't paid them much attention.
She was fully aware of the factional targeting by Konoha's leadership toward those outside the Hokage's lineage.
As a beneficiary of that system, she had felt it was unfair, but she had chosen silence.
In her mind, the worst outcome would be Sakumo being forced to step away from the Hokage succession. That was the political reality she hated, but had come to accept. Given her position, all she could do was avoid the flames.
But who could have imagined?
Who would have thought that the proud "White Fang of Konoha" would be driven to seppuku by mere slander?
This had completely crossed Tsunade's bottom line.
She could accept suppression within the rules, but never acts that harmed the very foundation of Konoha.
The loss of a top-tier combatant was already devastating. Worse was the ideological rift caused by this dirty scheme.
Looking at the cold name on the memorial stone, and at Hiruzen's solemn yet, to her, hypocritical expression, Tsunade's fists trembled inside her sleeves. The fury inside her chest burned in silence.
The heavy doors of the Hokage's office slammed open. The impact of the wooden doors hitting the wall echoed with a muffled thud.
Hiruzen sat behind his large desk, staring at the golden-haired figure standing backlit in the doorway.
Tsunade stepped in, face expressionless, but her eyes burned like a volcano ready to erupt.
She stopped in front of the desk, looking directly at Hiruzen.
"Old man," her voice was unusually calm, as calm as the silence before a storm, "you've gone too far this time. I'm deeply disappointed."
Hiruzen's brows furrowed deeply. The embers in his pipe flickered unsteadily.
He looked at one of his most prized students, weariness and conflict in his eyes. "Tsunade…"
He spoke hoarsely, his voice rough, "No one wanted this outcome. Not even me." He searched her eyes for a trace of understanding. "Do you believe that?"
"But," Tsunade's voice suddenly rose, and her anger was no longer hidden, "it happened under your watch!"
"I've already punished Danzō," Hiruzen replied immediately, as if it were his only and final justification.
"Punished Danzō?" Tsunade's lips curled into a cold, mocking smile. "That's far from enough." Her gaze was sharp as a blade, stabbing deep into Hiruzen's heart. "Remember this. This is your last warning. If you people continue like this, using these vile tricks to 'protect' your so-called Konoha…"
She leaned forward slightly, each word spoken with crystal clarity.
"Don't blame me for forcing you off that seat. You know I have the power to do it."
Tsunade stared into Hiruzen's suddenly contracting pupils and delivered the harshest blow.
"I won't let the Konoha my grandfather built be ruined by people like you."
The air in the office turned heavy and still.
Hiruzen's face darkened. He stood up abruptly, slamming his pipe onto the table.
"Tsunade! Whether you believe me or not, everything I've done is for Konoha!" His voice carried the frustration of being misunderstood and a hint of helpless sorrow.
"Hmph." Tsunade let out a cold snort, her eyes filled with disappointment and detachment. "Let's hope so."
She no longer looked at him and turned decisively toward the door.
Just as her hand reached the handle, she paused, not turning back.
Her voice rang out coldly and clearly.
"And another thing. Don't even think about using those same despicable tactics on Ryo and Kushina."
She turned slightly. The edge of her gaze swept across the shadows of the office, where other presences might be lurking.
"Or the consequences... won't be something you can afford."
She paused briefly, then added weight to her words. Each syllable was like a poisoned kunai.
"Ryo is not Hatake Sakumo."
"He will kill."
"Don't say I didn't warn you."
With that, Tsunade pulled open the door and strode out into the blinding sunlight.
Only the heavy sound of the door closing echoed in the silent office.
Hiruzen stood frozen, his expression shifting unpredictably. The aura within the office shadows seemed to freeze as well.
The weight of Tsunade's words, especially "he will kill," pressed heavily on him.
Hatake Sakumo's funeral concluded under an official narrative.
On the streets of Konoha, public discussion about his mission failure truly vanished, replaced by an oppressive silence.
But beneath that silence, turbulent undercurrents never ceased.
In a lower-year classroom at the Ninja Academy, an unexpected argument suddenly erupted.
"My dad said missions are everything! Hatake Sakumo was wrong to abandon the mission! He caused huge losses to the village!" A chubby kid jumped up, waving his fists with exaggerated emotion.
"No, that's wrong!" A tall, skinny boy immediately shot back like a cat whose tail had been stepped on. His face turned red. "My brother saw White Fang fight with his own eyes! He abandoned the mission to protect his comrades! Aren't their lives important? Didn't Grandpa Hiruzen say the Will of Fire is about valuing comrades?"
"The Will of Fire is about valuing comrades," the chubby kid said, refusing to back down, puffing up his chest. "But failing a mission causes bigger losses! More people die! That's the greatest disloyalty to the village! A shinobi should be like a kunai, cold and sharp, doing whatever it takes to complete the mission. That's true loyalty!"
"Shinobi aren't just tools!" The kid defending Sakumo trembled with rage and nearly lunged forward.
On the podium, the Chūnin instructor's forehead veins twitched. He slammed his hand on the desk, voice filled with panic and helplessness.
"That's enough! Quiet down! Regarding Lord Sakumo, the Hokage has already made the highest declaration. He is Konoha's undeniable hero! Remember the essence of the Will of Fire. Be united. Don't…"
But his voice was immediately drowned out by the kids' heated shouting.
"Mission first" and "Comrade bonds," two ideals that once seemed aligned, were now being ripped apart by the children's clashing arguments.
Like two raging rivers unable to merge, they collided violently.
This invisible rift had already, in the most shocking way, etched itself deeply into the minds of Konoha's next generation.
And not just in classrooms.
In taverns, the burn of alcohol couldn't cover the clash of opinions.
At mission briefing centers, shinobi waiting for assignments whispered with lingering doubt.
Even in the ANBU's mask-covered resting chambers, the pressure of this ideological storm could be felt.
Konoha's spiritual foundation had cracked completely after Sakumo's uncompromising decision.
Every shinobi, no matter their rank or experience, found themselves questioning the beliefs they once held dear.
Missions? Comrades? The village? The Will of Fire?
These once rock-solid tenets were now blurred, filled with painful contradictions.
Hiruzen tried to patch this rift with a "hero's" title and a gag order.
But he failed to see that such actions only exposed the fragility of the rules and the weakness of his own beliefs.
What he thought was a stabilizing move turned out to be a terrible mistake.
The cost? Konoha lost one of its sharpest blades and saw its ideological core shaken to the root.
Away from the somber atmosphere of the memorial, the tension in the Hokage office, and the pressure-filled streets, the home was peaceful.
The afternoon sun filtered through dense branches, casting golden specks on the boy sitting cross-legged in the yard.
Ryo was in his daily meditation, refining both his swordsmanship and Armament Haki.
The Kusanagi sword lay across his lap, its blade reflecting the flickering light through the leaves with a dark, gleaming luster.
His eyes were slightly closed, breathing long and steady, body merging with the swaying shadows and the air around him, radiating a presence as still as a mountain.
Only the rustling leaves and his calm breaths could be heard in the courtyard.
Kushina, holding a freshly printed issue of Konoha Weekly, came storming out of the house. Her bright red ponytail bounced with every step.
"Hey, Ryo! Look at this!"
She shoved the newspaper in front of Ryo just as he opened his eyes from meditation, her face showing both sarcasm and disbelief.
"Hokage's office gave their 'final verdict.' The funeral's 'successfully' concluded. Tch, so efficient."
Ryo took the newspaper and calmly glanced at the bold headline: A Hero Never Dies.
Below was a large photo of Hiruzen standing before the memorial stone, face solemn, delivering an impassioned speech.
The article was filled with official praise. "Cherished comrades," "a shining example of the Will of Fire," "a tremendous loss for the village"...
The entire piece oozed with a forced sense of tragedy and nobility.
As for the malicious rumor storm that had swept the village and driven a hero to death?
As for the failed mission that started it all?
Not a single word was mentioned. As if it had never happened.
"That old man's little trick…" Kushina scoffed, hands on her hips. Her red hair looked like flames in the sunlight.
"Only after he's dead do they say nice things? Where were they when it mattered? Who do you think fanned the flames the hardest during the smear campaign?"
Having survived the destruction of Uzushio, she had an instinctive hatred for anything involving "political balance" and "greater good."
This kind of belated honor felt cheap and fake.
In the shade beneath the eaves, Mikoto quietly sat with a book in hand.
Hearing Kushina, she looked up and said calmly, "A gag order can silence mouths."
"But it can't seal thoughts, or mend what's already broken."
No matter how many flowers piled before the memorial, underneath lay buried doubt and fractured faith.
Outward unity couldn't hide inner collapse.
Ryo took a sip of warm water from the stone table, eyes calm as they glanced toward the distant Hokage Rock.
The massive statues stood silently under the sunlight, symbols of power and legacy.
Sakumo's fate perfectly matched what he remembered as a transmigrator. In that whirlpool of public condemnation, enabled and fueled by the leadership, the proud "White Fang" had chosen the most decisive and heartbreaking path, ending it all with death.
"That was Sakumo's own choice."
His voice was clear as it reached Kushina and Mikoto, detached but insightful.
"As for what the old man is doing now…"
He paused, then analyzed coldly.
"It's just two things. Shutting people up, and shifting blame."
"Push Danzō out as the scapegoat, wrap Sakumo in a flashy 'hero' ribbon to soothe the people, then issue a gag order..."
"He really thinks this will clean up the mess they started, erase the blood they spilled, and silence everything?"
Ryo let out a faint scoff. Cold and knowing.
"Too late. The crack is already there, and it runs deep."
He recalled the stifling silence on the streets. The children's flushed faces as they argued. The quiet murmurs of doubt.
"Mission first? Bonds with comrades?"
His gaze seemed to pierce space, seeing Konoha's ideological turmoil.
A sharp glint flashed across his lips.
"The so-called Will of Fire, when faced with ruthless politics and backroom power plays, has been exposed for what it really is... nothing but scattered sand."
Hiruzen had paid a steep and irreversible price for his so-called balance and greater good—using Sakumo's life and tearing apart Konoha's entire shinobi ideology.
(To be continued.)
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◇ One bonus chapter will be released for every 200 Power Stones.
◇ You can read the ahead chapter on Pat if you're interested: p-atreon.c-om/Blownleaves (Just remove the hyphen to access normally.)