Chapter 69: The Half-Sleeve of the Hokage, the Truth Behind Sakumo's Fall
After Kakashi departed in pursuit of Sasuke, Naruto was left to his arboreal imprisonment, swinging gently like a particularly frustrated pendulum. With his primary charge temporarily incapacitated, Ren saw an opportunity and settled more comfortably against Uzuki Yugao, closing his eyes with a contented sigh.
"Is this boy on a mission or a spa retreat?" Yugao muttered under her breath, feeling the full weight of a sleeping ten-year-old leaning into her back. The urge to shove him off the branch was a palpable, physical itch in her fingers.
But she knew him now. Three days of stakeout had taught her that any direct action would be met with a torrent of shameless, logically twisted excuses about bullying children, disrespecting junior operatives, and damaging team morale. So she endured, a statue of professional frustration, as Ren's breathing evened out into soft snores.
The setting was almost idyllic—dappled sunlight, birdsong, the faint scent of wildflowers and clean sweat from the kunoichi beside him. Ren slept deeply.
He dreamed.
In his dream, he wore the Hokage's robe and hat. Not the Fifth's, but his own. The office was his. And Tsunade, the legendary Sannin, was his assistant. Their "staff meetings" were creative, energetic, and frequently interrupted by urgent paperwork they both ignored.
But the true centerpiece of his dream was the Anbu. His Anbu. No longer a faceless corps of masked killers, but a curated, elite unit of Konoha's most capable—and aesthetically impressive—kunoichi. Hyuga Hinata and Hanabi providing byakugan surveillance. Yamanaka Ino handling intelligence and interrogation. Haruno Sakura as head of medical support. Uzuki Yugao and Yuhi Kurenai as tactical commanders. Tenten on logistics and weaponry. Mitarashi Anko for... special deterrents. Shizune managing administration.
And he'd recruited. Oh, how he'd recruited. Konan of the Akatsuki in flowing paper robes. Temari of Suna with her fan. Kumogakure's Samui. Otogakure's Guren. Even the Fifth Mizukage herself, Mei Terumi, wore the stylized animal mask and form-fitting armor of his personal guard.
Heheh... so good... so comfortable... The dream-Ren sighed, a line of drool escaping the corner of his mouth in the waking world.
The warm, wet sensation on her thigh was the final straw for Uzuki Yugao.
"ENOUGH!"
She shoved him away, hard enough to jolt him awake but not off the branch. "You are pushing every single boundary, child!"
"Huh? Wha...?" Ren blinked, disoriented. He wiped the drool from his chin, then noticed the damp patch on Yugao's dark leggings. "Oh. Oops. My apologies, Senpai. Unconscious salivary glands. No malicious intent, I swear."
"If there had been malicious intent," she said, her voice dangerously calm, "you would currently be experiencing a rapid, unplanned descent."
"Heheh, I knew you were the best, Senpai! When I'm Hokage, I'll remember your... patience." He grinned, the picture of innocent cheek.
Just you wait, he thought, the dream's grand vision still clinging to his mind. I didn't cross worlds to live a small life.
Below, the survival exercise reached its climax. Naruto, now untied from the tree but secured to a training post, watched with Sasuke and Sakura as Kakashi delivered his final lecture.
"In the shinobi world," Kakashi's voice lost its customary laziness, gaining a grave, cutting edge, "those who break the rules are scum." He paused, his single eye sweeping over them. "But those who abandon their comrades are worse than scum."
He produced the two silver bells, letting them chime softly. "Congratulations. Team 7. You pass."
The trio stared, disbelief melting into explosive joy. After the humiliating series of failures, the reversal was seismic.
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[VIP Highlight: Sakumo Hatake - "My son... he learned."]
Uchiha Madara (VIP1): Snorts. Sentimental theatrics. A waste of time.
Hashirama Senju (Regular Viewer): I think it's beautiful! The Will of Fire!
Minato Namikaze (VIP1): They passed! They actually grasped the lesson!
Tobirama Senju (VIP5): The final aphorism Kakashi employed is... philosophically sound. The balance between order and loyalty defines a shinobi's soul.
Sakumo Hatake (Regular Viewer): A heavy, spectral sigh. Rules versus comrades... So, Kakashi. You haven't forgotten after all.
Tobirama Senju: Hm? Sakumo. Elaborate.
A silence stretched before Sakumo's answer came, his voice stripped of emotion, as if reciting a report on another man's death.
Sakumo Hatake: During a critical infiltration mission, my team was compromised. One of my men was captured. I chose to abort the mission to extract him. The mission failed. The intelligence was lost. Upon return... the village did not receive a hero. They saw a man who prioritized a single life over the security of many. The criticism was... intense. Even the man I saved eventually joined the chorus, blaming me for making him a symbol of failure. The weight of their words, their eyes... I could no longer bear it.
The stream was quiet, listening to the ghost of Konoha's White Fang recount his fall.
Tobirama Senju: Sakumo. Mission parameters exist for a reason. An Anbu commander must assess the objective's value against the cost. If the mission was vital to village security, your choice was an error. If it was peripheral, then your choice was morally correct, if tactically messy.
It was a cold, clinical analysis, pure Tobirama.
But then Ren's voice cut through the solemnity, sharp as a honed kunai.
Ren Arakawa (subvocalizing): If only it were that simple, Lord Second. The mission Sakumo-sama abandoned was, by all accounts, a standard border intelligence sweep. Important, but not catastrophic if failed. The real issue wasn't the mission. It was the half-sleeve."
A beat of confusion.
Hashirama Senju: Half-sleeve?
Ren Arakawa: The Hokage's ceremonial robe. At the time of his death, Sakumo Hatake wasn't just an Anbu captain. He was the officially designated successor. He already wore one sleeve of the Hokage's robe. His popularity was unmatched. He was to be the Fourth Hokage.
The implications sank in, cold and dark.
Ren Arakawa: Then, after one failed mission—a mission where he chose a comrade's life—the entire village, including the man he saved, turns on him? The condemnation is sudden, universal, and vicious enough to drive the strongest shinobi of his generation to suicide? Leaving behind a young son to inherit only his shame?
Ren let the questions hang in the digital void.
Ren Arakawa: Doesn't that sequence of events smell... manufactured? Doesn't it reek of political assassination by social pressure? And the two students you left in charge of the village, Lord Second... one a kindly old man prone to inaction, the other a shadow who thrives on removing obstacles... I wonder which of them saw a popular, moral, independent-minded successor as a threat to their vision of Konoha?
The silence in the Pure Land was absolute. It was the silence of shattered assumptions, of history re-examined under a brutal, new light.
Sakumo Hatake's spectral form flickered violently.
Uchiha Madara let out a low, appreciative chuckle. Now this is interesting.
Tobirama Senju's face was a mask of frozen fury. Not at Ren, but at the horrifying, plausible picture he had painted.
And somewhere in the Hokage Tower, Sarutobi Hiruzen, who had been watching the stream with growing dread, felt the blood drain from his face.
The boy hadn't just uncovered a secret.
He had thrown a lit explosive tag into the foundation of Konoha's history, and everyone was about to see what lay buried in the rubble.