Chapter 68: A Vision for a Better Anbu
The silence in the stream stretched, thick with secondhand embarrassment.
Tobirama Senju (VIP5): Fourth Hokage. I require a professional assessment. Is your son genuinely cognitively impaired, or is this an elaborate performance art?
Uchiha Madara (VIP1): I am reevaluating the Kyūbi's standards for a vessel. Clearly, desperation was a factor.
Uchiha Izuna (Regular Viewer): Heh. This is what happens with early, passionate unions. The genetic stock weakens.
Minato Namikaze (VIP1): I refuse to accept genetic blame for this!
Kushina Uzumaki (VIP1): Oh? So it's my fault?
Minato Namikaze: No! Never! I mean—it's the universe's fault! Or... mine! Yes, all mine! My bad!
Uchiha Mikoto (VIP2): Minato is so sweet when he's apologizing, Kushina. I'm a little jealous.
Karura (Regular Viewer): Jealous!
Yagura Karatachi (VIP2): Envy +1.
Uchiha Fugaku (VIP1): Envy? What's there to envy? Warm words don't accomplish the mission. Useless.
Minato Namikaze: ...
Below, dangling like a caught fish, Naruto raged. "YOU CHEATER! PLAYING DIRTY!"
Kakashi ignored the tantrum. He strolled over, calm as a summer day, and bent to pick up the very bell that had served as bait. The movement was deliberately slow, a provocation.
Swish. Swish. SWISH!
The air behind Kakashi tore. Three shuriken, thrown with expert force and spin, curved around his silhouette, banking sharply in mid-air to strike from his blind side. The timing was impeccable—the moment his focus was on the bell, his guard theoretically lowest.
"AH! SASUKE, YOU IDIOT! YOU'LL KILL HIM!" Naruto screamed.
Sasuke, watching from a nearby tree, felt no such concern. Completing the exercise was paramount. Returning to the academy was not an option. Besides, he held no belief that a jōnin would fall to mere shuriken.
THUD.
A log. A simple substitution jutsu. Kakashi was already gone.
Tobirama Senju: I'll concede this Uchiha boy, while no Ren, possesses markedly better instincts than your son, Fourth.
Minato Namikaze: Sighs deeply. Don't remind me.
Uchiha Izuna: The curved shuriken technique was well-executed. A refined application.
Uchiha Fugaku: Sasuke must have learned that from Itachi. He was always pestering his brother for training.
Uchiha Mikoto: At least Sasuke hasn't inherited Naruto's... particular brand of problem-solving. A small comfort.
Kushina Uzumaki: Mikoto-nee! What's that supposed to mean?!
Uchiha Mikoto: N-nothing! Naruto is... wonderfully spirited!
Sasuke didn't wait. The moment his attack failed, he was moving, a shadow melting into the deeper forest. Sakura, seeing the writing on the wall, fled in the opposite direction.
Kakashi materialized atop the log, his single eye scanning the treeline. "Found you," he murmured, and gave chase.
[System Notification: Live Stream Active]
[Viewers: 157 Pure Land Residents]
[Current Donation Pool: 439 viewer points]
[VIP Highlight: Uchiha Fugaku - "Why aren't you following my son?!" ]
Uchiha Fugaku: Ren! Why are you still here? Follow them!
Ren Arakawa (subvocalizing): My mission parameters are clear: monitor Uzumaki Naruto. Naruto is here, dangling from a tree. My location is optimal.
As he "explained," he shifted, leaning his weight more comfortably against Uzuki Yugao, who was crouched beside him on the high branch.
"Kid. What are you doing now?" Yugao's voice was a low, warning hum. His proximity had become a constant, testing presence over the last few days—an elbow brush here, a casual lean there. Were he not a child, she'd have already demonstrated why she was known for her kenjutsu.
"Just tired, Senpai. You wouldn't deny a junior a little support, would you? Your shoulder is just the right height." His grin was audible.
"You could lean on Tenzō."
Ren made a show of sniffing the air. "No can do. Captain Yamato has a... distinctive aroma. You, on the other hand, smell like cherry blossoms and sharp steel. Much preferable."
A few feet away, Yamato's masked head turned slightly. Do I smell? He surreptitiously tried to sniff his own arm.
Sakumo Hatake (Regular Viewer): Flirting during an Anbu stakeout. You've got a unique skill set, boy.
Tobirama Senju (VIP5): Damn it, Ren! Do not corrupt the institution I founded with your... hormonal management strategies!
Ren Arakawa: No corruption intended! But it did give me an idea.
Tobirama Senju: What now? Another scheme to extract viewer points?
Ren Arakawa: The Anbu is the Hokage's personal arm. I've heard they even provide personal guard details. Imagine if future recruitment... focused solely on kunoichi. An elite force of highly skilled, loyal, and aesthetically pleasing operatives. The efficiency would be unparalleled.
The stream chat froze.
Tobirama Senju: ...You want to turn my elite black ops division into a... harem guard?
Ren Arakawa: Think of the morale benefits! And the operational flexibility!
Uchiha Izuna: I'm starting to like this kid.
Hashirama Senju (Regular Viewer): Tobirama, breathe. He's joking. Probably.
Tobirama Senju: ARE YOU?!
Below, Naruto finally managed to wriggle one hand free and began forming a seal, likely for another shadow clone attempt to get himself down.
Yugao sighed, the sound lost beneath her mask. "Focus on the mission, Ren. The jinchūriki is attempting to self-extricate."
"I'm focused," Ren said, but his Sharingan—active at its most minimal, energy-efficient level—wasn't on Naruto's struggling form. It was analyzing the chakra patterns in the surrounding forest, tracking the distant, fading signatures of Kakashi, Sasuke, and Sakura. He noted the subtle, sickly-sweet chakra signature that had been lingering at the extreme edge of his sensory range for the past hour. It was familiar. Zetsu.
He's here. Watching. The script is on track.
"Yugao-senpai," Ren said, his voice losing its playful edge. "Request permission to do a perimeter sweep. A five-hundred-meter radius. Something feels... off."
Yamato turned fully now. "Off? Explain."
"Chakra residue. Faint, but foreign. Not Konoha. Not student. It's... old. And wrong."
Yamato and Yugao exchanged a glance. Ren's sensory abilities were already legendary within certain circles of the Hokage's office. His "feeling" carried weight.
"Granted," Yamato said after a beat. "Yugao, maintain primary surveillance on the jinchūriki. Ren, sweep and return. Report anything. Anything."
Ren nodded, gave a mock-salute to Yugao (which earned him another exasperated sigh), and vanished in a silent shunshin.
As he ghosted through the trees, the dead in the stream finally recovered from his "Anbu reform" proposal.
Tobirama Senju: He's gone to scout. Good. The boy understands priorities, even if his personal ones are... questionable.
Minato Namikaze: He sensed something? What could be out here?
Uchiha Madara: A faint, knowing smirk. The pieces are moving. The board is being set. Let us see if the child has the eyes to see the players, not just the pieces.
Ren landed soundlessly on a thick branch, his Sharingan piercing the gloom. There, on a mossy rock fifty meters ahead, was a faint, shimmering outline—a white, plant-like half-form emerging from the bark of a tree, its single yellow eye fixed on the direction Kakashi had gone.
Black Zetsu. Right on time.
Ren didn't engage. He watched, memorizing the chakra frequency, the pattern of its concealment.
So it begins, he thought. The Wave arc. Zabuza. Haku. The first real blood.
And his role was no longer just observer or protector. He was a variable. A wild card with the eyes of the Uchiha, the techniques of the Fourth, the cunning of a modern mind, and a live stream full of dead mentors who were, for better or worse, invested in his success.
He melted back into the shadows, a smile touching his lips.
This is going to be fun.