"These two old fossils," Raimon muttered under his breath, watching as Mitokado Homura and Utatane Koharu swept into the room with an air of entrenched authority. With Danzo's defection, they were the last remnants of the old Hokage's advisory council. Hiruzen had just finished explaining Danzo's shocking departure, but Raimon barely registered it. Danzo was a problem for another day.
"What? Do you have an objection?" Tsunade's temper, never one to be leashed, flared immediately. She wasn't about to be lectured by these relics on her first day.
Truth be told, the two elders weren't inherently evil. Their issue had always been an inability to sway Hiruzen's often-indecisive will. During the Kyūbi attack, they had been among the loudest voices questioning Hiruzen's leadership. Just recently, Danzo had tried to sway them, boasting of his contributions and painting Tsunade as unfit, all in a bid to seize power for himself. But having served under the shrewd Nidaime, Tobirama, they understood why Danzo had been passed over. Years of witnessing his shadowy, ruthless methods had only solidified their distrust.
Raimon leaned in close behind Tsunade, his voice a low, strategic murmur only she could hear. "Keep them. They're experienced bureaucrats. But counterbalance them. Put Jiraiya and Shizune on the council too. And draft some Nara clansmen. They're smart and lazy—perfect for streamlining paperwork." His plan was simple: turn the advisory council into a managerial workhorse. Tsunade's role would be to provide ultimate authority and overwhelming combat strength, not to drown in scrolls.
Tsunade gave a barely perceptible nod. "You may retain your positions as Hokage Advisors," she announced, her tone brooking no argument. "However, final authority on all major decisions rests with me. Furthermore, Jiraiya and Shizune will be joining the council as my direct assistants."
Homura and Koharu exchanged a glance. They had expected resistance, not incorporation. At their age, grooming successors wasn't the worst fate.
"Very well," Koharu said stiffly. "We shall… assist in their orientation." With that, the two elders took their leave, the fight momentarily gone from them.
This left Hiruzen Sarutobi standing awkwardly to the side. If even those two were being kept on… what was his role now? To linger like a ghost from Minato's era, offering unsolicited advice?
"Ahem." Tsunade cleared her throat. Raimon had prepped her for this. She turned a dazzling, utterly insincere smile on her former teacher. "Sensei! You're still in the prime of your life! A spry sixty-nine! A man of your experience and vigor should hardly be considering retirement!"
The flattery was so thick Hiruzen could almost taste it, and for a fleeting, foolish moment, he felt a surge of his old pride. Maybe I do have a few good years left…
"Which is why," Tsunade continued, her smile never wavering, "I am entrusting you with a vital task. The reformation and leadership of the Konoha Military Police Force."
The mental whiplash was instant and brutal. Hiruzen's brief moment of vanity shattered. His mind, honed by decades of politics, snapped to crystal clarity.
The Military Police?
He was the one who'd originally sidelined the Uchiha into that very role, using it to isolate and eventually doom them. The idea of his own Sarutobi clan stepping into that political meat grinder, becoming the next target of village resentment and suspicion… The thought alone was chilling. He absolutely would not let the Sarutobi become the next Uchiha.
"No! Absolutely not!" Hiruzen refused, panic edging his voice. "I am old, my reflexes are slow. I wish only for a quiet retirement. I cannot take on such a responsibility." His eyes darted to Raimon, who was leaning against the wall with a look of pure, innocent interest. It was him. This is his poison-tipped idea.
"Why are you glaring at me like that?" Raimon asked, his tone deceptively light. His gaze, however, dropped meaningfully to Hiruzen's midsection, a silent, terrible promise in his golden eyes.
Hiruzen felt a familiar, dread-induced clench. But for the survival of his clan, he had to be brave. "I simply… cannot accept."
"What?" Raimon's voice lost its playful edge. "Do you have an opinion?"
Before Hiruzen could form another word, Raimon's hands were a blur of seals. The air in the office crackled with gathering chakra. "Fūton, Raiton: Taijutsu Ōgi – Kaze Kaminari Rasen Shōkō Denkō Doku Ryū Doriiru: Sen nen no Shi!" (Wind Release, Lightning Release: Secret Taijutsu – Wind Lightning Spiral Ascension Electric Light Poison Dragon Drill: Thousand Years of Death!)
The familiar, terrifying whine filled the room as the crackling, corkscrewing drill of concentrated wind and lightning chakra materialized in Raimon's palm. The sound of tearing air was a direct assault on Hiruzen's nerves. He could practically feel the heat from here. The reinforced steel plate hidden under his robes felt woefully, hilariously inadequate.
He was prepared to sacrifice his own posterior for the clan's future. He stood his ground, a tragic figure of resolve.
"I… I really cannot!" he insisted, his voice trembling. "I'll pay! One billion ryō! Find another clan!"
Raimon wasn't listening. He took a slow, deliberate step forward. "I heard a fascinating rumor," he mused, his voice conversational. "That during your… lengthy tenure, the Sarutobi clan quietly trained a private force of three thousand shinobi. Tsk tsk. That's not a clan guard. That's a small army." Another step. "I wonder… are Sarutobi buttocks as resilient as their ambition?"
Fwoop.
There was no puff of smoke, no blur of movement. One moment Raimon was in front of him, the next, Hiruzen felt a presence directly behind him. He squeezed his eyes shut, memories flashing—missions with Tobirama-sensei, accepting the hat, the weight of the village… He braced for the searing, transformative pain.
CLANG-SZZZT!
A sound of metal under immense stress and a sharp sizzle reached his ears. A wave of heat bloomed across his rear, accompanied by the distinct, acrid smell of scorched metal and… singed fabric.
But no soul-rending agony.
He cracked an eye open.
"Whoops," Raimon said from behind him, sounding genuinely apologetic. "My hand slipped. Let me try that again."
The drill, which had momentarily faded, reignited with a vengeful SCREECH in Raimon's hand.
Hiruzen's brief respite evaporated, cold sweat drenching his back. "You—you can't do this! This is tyranny!"
"Can't I?" Raimon's smile was all teeth. Escape was impossible. The Hiraishin made him omnipresent. For a wild second, Hiruzen wished he'd conspired with Danzo to flee. Danzo, you coward, why didn't you take me with you?!
The drill inched closer. The heat was palpable. The will of the Sarutobi clan warred with the primal will to keep his fundament intact. The latter won in a landslide.
"STOP! I—I ACCEPT!" Hiruzen yelped, the words tearing from his throat. "I'll do it! The Sarutobi clan will oversee the Military Police!"
The menacing whine of the drill cut off instantly. The oppressive chakra pressure vanished. Hiruzen slumped, his legs weak. He had just seen the Pure Land's gates swing open.
Without another word, looking a decade older, Hiruzen Sarutobi shuffled hastily towards the door. He needed air. He needed distance.
"Sensei," Tsunade called after him, her voice sweet as poisoned honey. "Please begin the arrangements at once. The village's security is counting on you."
The bow she gave him wasn't respectful; it felt like a funeral rite. He practically fled into the hallway.
Just as he reached the threshold, Raimon's voice, dripping with faux curiosity, floated after him. "Oh, by the way… did you ever finish that special 'milk' you got from Naruto?"
Hiruzen stumbled, catching himself on the doorframe. The memory was visceral: the single bottle he'd 'sampled' from that batch of expired goods he'd allowed to be sold to the boy. The three days of violent, gut-wrenching illness that followed. He fled without looking back, his dignity in tatters.
Watching the broken figure retreat, Raimon allowed himself a small, satisfied smirk. "That old monkey. Let's see if he can keep his own arrogant clan in line." He wasn't overly concerned. Hiruzen lacked Fugaku's fanaticism. And if the Sarutobi ever did get treasonous ideas… well, he could always play the role of 'Uchiha Itachi' for a new generation.
With Jiraiya and Shizune gone to meet the elders, the vast Hokage office fell into a sudden, intimate quiet. It was just the two of them now. The atmosphere shifted palpably.
Tsunade broke the silence, her medical mind circling a persistent problem. "Rai… are you sure there's no way with the Edo Tensei body? No workaround?" She frowned, already mentally drafting a low-rank intelligence-gathering mission to 'officially' recall a certain snake Sannin. A high-rank mission was too expensive for the village ledger.
"Have we not… thoroughly tested the limits?" Raimon replied, rolling his eyes. His clothes had been torn off and reformed more times in the past day than in his entire original life. The desire was there, but the physical mechanics were, frustratingly, not.
Shaking off the distracting thought, Raimon got down to business. "First things first. We need to draft the official pardon." He guided Tsunade to the desk, indicating she should start writing. "All of Orochimaru's past crimes within Konoha—human experimentation, the assassination attempt on the Sandaime—we pin it all on Danzo. Coercion, secret orders, the whole works. Danzo's defection makes him the perfect scapegoat. It cleans the slate."
Tsunade picked up a brush, a determined glint in her eye. "Alright. Let's get that slippery snake back home."