The atmosphere in the Sarutobi clan's main hall was thick enough to choke on. That evening, Hiruzen Sarutobi had called a full, mandatory clan meeting, and the grim reality of their situation hung over everyone like a funeral shroud. The memory of the dozen clansmen who had been… altered was still fresh, a visceral warning that had every man in the room fighting a sympathetic phantom pain in their own nether regions.
And the rumors… by the Sage, the rumors were worse!
They whispered of another one of Namikaze Raimon's techniques, one that could make a person's backside 'bloom' upon impact. The very thought was enough to make even the toughest Jonin break out in a cold sweat.
Hiruzen, looking older and more worn than anyone had ever seen him, finally broke the heavy silence. His voice, though firm, carried the weight of their collective dread. "Well? Who else here has an objection to this course of action?!"
A timid, unified murmur rose from the crowd. "We have no objections, Lord Third!"
The message was clear: nine hundred billion ryo was a monstrous, almost impossible sum, but it was a price they would pay to keep their family 'roots' intact and their rears un-flowered.
"But, Lord Third," one of the senior clan members ventured, his voice hesitant, "even if every single one of us takes on missions from dawn until dusk, raising nine hundred billion in just over twenty days is… it's a mountain we cannot climb!"
No one dared object to the payment itself—this disaster was of their own making, a consequence of the clan's years of embezzlement. In a true worst-case scenario, they could always pool their personal stashes, their hidden fortunes built over years of privilege. But that was the absolute last resort; dipping into their own pockets for a clan-wide debt, before it directly threatened them, was a bitter pill none were eager to swallow.
"He's right, Lord Third! The numbers just don't add up! Mission rewards are a drop in this ocean!" another voice agreed, the despair palpable.
"Hmph! I'll say what everyone is thinking!" Asuma Sarutobi suddenly barked, slamming a fist into his palm, his face a mask of righteous indignation. "This isn't a debt; this is robbery! Namikaze Raimon is outright robbing us!"
Because of Raimon, his allowance had been slashed to nothing. As a Jonin sensei now, his time for high-paying missions was limited. How was he supposed to manage? How could he court Kurenai Yuhi, start a family, and ensure the Sarutobi bloodline continued without any funds? A man needed money for these things!
Then, a dangerous, brilliant spark ignited in Asuma's eyes. "Robbing… that's it! Why didn't I think of that before!"
The fastest way to get a lot of money quickly wasn't through honest work—it was to take it. And the best targets were other criminals. There were rogue ninja, missing-nin, scum who preyed on the weak and hoarded their ill-gotten gains. They could hunt those down, 'eliminate a menace for the people,' and liberate their treasure chests. It was justice, in a twisted, profitable way.
Hiruzen's own eyes, previously dull with exhaustion, suddenly lit up with a sharp, calculating glint he hadn't shown in years.
"I've truly grown old and soft in my retirement," he mused, a slow, cunning smile spreading across his face. "To have overlooked such a… direct method."
Just moments ago, he had been trapped by the Hokage's mindset, thinking only in terms of sanctioned missions and village economics. Now, the old shinobi—the "Professor" who had survived two Shinobi World Wars—was reawakening. Not only could they cover the debt, but they could even create a nice, private emergency fund for the clan in the process.
"Ahem!" Hiruzen cleared his throat authoritatively. The excited chatter, led by Asuma about prime rogue-nin hunting grounds, died down instantly. All eyes turned to their patriarch, the Sandaime.
"Missions will still be done," Hiruzen declared, his voice low and strategic. "And the rogue ninja… will be 'processed.' Do not put all your resources in one basket." He paused, letting his next words sink in with deliberate weight. "I've also heard that certain merchants within the Land of Fire have been growing… restless. You are authorized to handle such instability as you see fit."
Who were the richest in the Ninja World?
The Daimyos, of course. But right after them were the merchants, those who profited from war and peace alike, followed by the great shinobi clans. The average ninja had money, but their expenses for weapons, scrolls, and medicine were astronomical. And really, what sane shinobi saved vast fortunes? It was a profession where you might not come home one day, leaving your savings for another man to spend on your wife and… well, the thought was unbearable.
"Furthermore," Hiruzen added, his tone turning stern, "the duties of the Konoha Military Police Force must be performed flawlessly!"
This prompted a groan from the crowd.
"Lord Third, that's easier said than done!" one clansman complained. "In just one day, we've handled over a dozen disputes! My legs are about to fall off from running around! There were drunkards causing a scene, but they're cousins of the Hayama family, who are close to us! And then there was that merchant who's always donated to the clan… do we arrest them or not? If we don't, the civilians complain to the Hokage's office. I had to pay the compensation out of my own pocket just to smooth things over!"
Asuma scowled, a thought striking him.
"The Uchiha… how did they manage this?" He remembered the extremist Uchiha clan. The Konoha Military Police under their command had been feared, yes, but they were also ruthlessly, impeccably efficient. They were tyrannical in their enforcement, but they were never wrong. There was a brutal, straightforward clarity to their work that the Sarutobi now found themselves desperately missing.
"The decision is made. We act now," Hiruzen stated, the weariness returning to his frame as if the brief flash of cunning had drained him completely. He felt a deep, soul-crushing fatigue. Perhaps, he thought, once Namikaze Raimon's money was paid, he could finally just lay down and let his life reach its end.
He turned his gaze to his son, and for a moment, the mask of the clan head fell away, revealing only a tired father. "Asuma… the future of the Sarutobi clan rests on your shoulders now."
With that, the former Hokage turned and shuffled away, his back a permanently hunched monument to his failures, leaving the entire hall in a state of stunned, profound silence.
"What… what did Lord Third mean by that?" someone finally whispered.
The implication was terrifying. Was their pillar, the man who had led them to an unprecedented golden age, truly preparing to step down from the world entirely?
Asuma, though often at odds with his father, understood. All the pieces his father had moved—securing him as the sensei for the next generation of the Ino-Shika-Cho trio, a cornerstone of Konoha's power structure—had been to pave his way to the Hokage's seat. With that reputation and lineage, the hat could have been his. Now, that dream was ash. The Sarutobi clan no longer had a great tree for shade. They would have to become the great tree themselves.
"Enough!" Asuma's voice cut through the murmurs, firm and resolute. "You all have your assignments. Dismissed!"
The weight on his shoulders was immense, but it was a burden he would have to bear.
****
Far away, in the perpetually raining Amegakure, a lone figure received a condensed intelligence report from Konoha. Uchiha Itachi's expression remained a placid mask, but in the depths his dark, sharingan-less eyes, a faint, ominous premonition stirred.
His original agreement, the terrible pact that defined his existence, had been made with Hiruzen Sarutobi and Danzo. He held leverage over them, a final insurance policy for his little brother's safety. But now, the board had been reset. Hiruzen was ousted and powerless, and Danzo was a rogue missing-nin. The delicate, bloody balance that kept Sasuke safe was shattered.
Itachi stared out into the endless rain, facing the direction of Konoha. "It is time," he murmured to himself, his voice barely a whisper, "to go home and see it for myself."
"Yare yare daze…" (Good grief…)
A massive, shark-like figure loomed behind him. "Is Mr. Itachi thinking about his little brother again?"
Kisame Hoshigaki grinned, his sharp teeth on full display.
"Indeed, Mr. Itachi is as lonely as I am." He hefted the Samehada, which was wrapped in bandages on his back. "Samehada, you feel it too, don't you?"
The sentient sword writhed slightly, the bandages rustling in what seemed like agreement. Kisame sometimes wondered what the point of his existence was. But ever since joining Akatsuki and partnering with this enigmatic, lonely Uchiha, he felt he had finally found a purpose.
"Kisame," Itachi said, not turning around, his tone leaving no room for debate. "You're coming with me."
"Of course," Kisame's tone was almost gentle, a stark contrast to his monstrous appearance. "I've been wanting to meet the famous little brother of Mr. Itachi."
In a flash of speed, Itachi's figure vanished and reappeared in the distance. Once his mind was made up, he saw no reason for delay. He would follow the pull in his heart, a pull that led directly back to the village he had sacrificed everything to protect.
Kisame hurried to catch up, a curious thought crossing his mind. "Huh… Mr. Itachi feels different from how he is on our usual missions."
He wasn't wrong. On many of their previous assignments, it was often just a shadow clone that accompanied the enthusiastic Kisame, providing minimal support from the periphery—maybe a well-placed Fire Release to contribute to the chaos.
On simpler tasks, he'd even resort to casting a subtle genjutsu on his partner, making Kisame believe he'd been there the whole time. After all, they were just small-fry; his presence was unnecessary, and it let him focus on more important things. Kisame just ended up a little more tired, none the wiser.
Itachi's true focus had always been split: investigating the Akatsuki's true goals from the inside, while simultaneously playing a deadly game of chess with the serpents in Konoha's roots, Danzo and Hiruzen. But now, with Danzo gone and Hiruzen fallen, he had to return. He had to remind Konoha—remind everyone—that a powerful Uchiha still walked this earth, and his eyes were still watching.
As they sped through the rain-soaked landscape, Kisame couldn't help but marvel at his partner's focused intensity.
"So this," he mused, a wide grin spreading across his face, "is what it actually feels like to go on a mission with the real Mr. Itachi!"
"Yare yare daze," Itachi repeated softly, the words lost to the wind as they raced toward a village bracing for a storm it didn't yet know was coming.