The newly promoted jōnin who had shown up uninvited stared at Kakashi with an expression somewhere between stiff politeness and outright panic.
Yamato—no, Tenzo—had been raised in Root since childhood. Three years ago, after his failed attempt to assassinate the Third Hokage, Hiruzen had transferred him to ANBU and stripped away the codename "Yamato," replacing it with the bland, impersonal "Tenzo." Social skills had never been part of the curriculum.
And now, standing in front of this white-haired legend, Tenzo's stomach twisted itself into knots.
Everything about the man screamed danger: the relaxed posture that somehow radiated killing intent, the stories that followed him like ghosts. This was the shinobi who had cut down the Two-Tails on the Frost Country battlefield, the lunatic who once stormed the Cloud's main encampment with only eight hundred men at his back. The Fourth Hokage's personal student. A genius who made jōnin at twelve.
And Tenzo was supposed to teach him chakra nature and shape transformation for Water Release?
The pressure was crushing.
Asuma and Guy exchanged a quick, knowing glance before both turned to watch Kakashi's reaction.
"Tenzo, right?"
Kakashi snapped Icha Icha Paradise shut, slipped it into his pouch, and walked over with that lazy half-smile of his. He extended a hand.
"Nice to meet you. Kakashi Hatake."
Maybe it was the easy tone, or the fact that Kakashi didn't loom or posture—just offered a normal handshake—but something inside Tenzo unclenched. He grabbed the hand quickly, grip a little too tight.
"Senior Kakashi… please look after me from now on."
Kakashi's visible eye curved. "These two are my teammates. The loud one's Might Guy. The one who smells like an ashtray is Asuma."
Guy flashed a dazzling, thumbs-up grin. "We're comrades now! Just Guy is fine!"
Asuma ground his cigarette beneath his sandal, already fishing out the pack for another. "Kid, want one?"
Tenzo froze like a deer in a genjutsu.
"Anyway," Kakashi cut in smoothly, rescuing him, "since the Hokage wants you to coach me on Water Release nature and shape transformation, looks like I'll be in your care for a while."
Tenzo shot him a grateful glance. So the rumors were wrong. Senior Kakashi wasn't cold or terrifying at all—he was actually… decent.
How could someone this gentle with his teammates be the same man who openly defied the council and pushed for total war?
"Alright," Kakashi said, clapping Tenzo lightly on the shoulder. "I'm free. Shall we?"
He glanced at the other two. "You guys coming?"
Guy pumped a fist. "If my eternal rival is training, then the Beast of Youth refuses to slack! Five hundred handstand laps around the village—starting now!"
Asuma exhaled smoke through his nose. "Pass. Got a mission tomorrow. But when I'm back, we're all grabbing barbecue. You too, Tenzo—no excuses."
Tenzo straightened instinctively. "Y-yes, sir! Definitely!"
Asuma gave a lazy salute and strolled off.
Tenzo watched him go, then glanced at Guy already upside-down and "running" away on his hands, then finally at Kakashi beside him.
…So this was what the outside world felt like.
Warm.
"Let's go," Kakashi said, patting his shoulder again.
The Third had made his move.
Tenzo wasn't just another jōnin. He carried Wood Release inside him—the same bloodline art that once belonged to the First Hokage.
The kekkei genkai that had built Konoha from nothing.
Kakashi already had Guy and Asuma. Now the Hokage had delivered Tenzo.
The strongest of their generation were finally all in one place.
Kakashi, Guy, Asuma, Tenzo—Konoha's very own Fantastic Four.
Though… if things ever went that far, maybe they could find Tenzo a nice White Zetsu coat to wear.
Round-faced little Tenzo summoning a thousand-armed Buddha behind him…
Yeah. That'd be something.
Hokage Building – Conference Room
While Kakashi was making new friends, the Cloud envoy Dodai was living minute to minute in hell.
He stared down at the stack of treaty papers in his trembling hands—papers so light yet heavier than lead.
His face was the color of ash.
"Lord Hokage," he managed through clenched teeth, "what is the meaning of this?"
He had braced himself for harsh terms. Konoha had every right to be furious. But this? This wasn't negotiation. This was slow execution.
Reparations? Fine. Territorial concessions? Painful, but survivable. Permanent Konoha garrisons on Cloud soil? They could grit their teeth and endure.
But ransoming their one thousand captured shinobi with full personnel dossiers and permanent caps on Cloud's military size? Handing over their complete Lightning Release archives—including the Hell Stab techniques?
That wasn't a treaty. That was a death sentence served on parchment.
Shinobi dossiers were lifeblood. Once Konoha had those names, bloodlines, and jutsu specialties, every future war would be fought with perfect counters. And giving up the Hell Stab series? Their village's proudest secret arts?
These last clauses made one thing crystal clear: Konoha never intended to return those thousand prisoners alive.
Dodai's knuckles went white around the papers.
Hiruzen took a long, slow drag on his pipe, letting the smoke curl lazily toward the ceiling before answering.
"Kumogakure has made a habit of coveting what belongs to Konoha. As Hokage, I have to protect my village. What's to stop you from coming after the Byakugan again—or the Nine-Tails?"
He smiled mildly. "Please understand."
Dodai swayed, dizzy with rage.
Please understand?
How about you try understanding for once?
"We will never hand over intelligence on eight thousand shinobi!" he snapped.
Hiruzen didn't even blink. He simply took another calm puff, letting pale smoke drift across the table until it stung Dodai's eyes.
"Very well," the old man said at last, voice soft. "Then how exactly does your village plan to compensate us instead?"
Dodai froze.
Lightning struck inside his skull.
He'd been played.
From the very beginning, those eight thousand names had never been the real demand—they'd tossed the number out as bait, knowing he'd refuse in anger.
And in that refusal, he had just handed Konoha the perfect excuse to keep the prisoners and demand something even worse.
His blood ran cold.
They'd never planned to send those thousand shinobi home at all. This was about something far bigger.
————
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