The negotiations ended the same way they always had.
With polite words, practiced smiles, and absolutely nothing of value gained.
The Hokage had listened, nodded, deflected, and delayed—an old man playing for time with the confidence of someone who believed time was on his side. The delegation from Kumogakure bowed, thanked him for his hospitality, and withdrew with all the dignity expected of diplomats.
By the time night fell, every member of the delegation knew the truth.
There would be no agreement.
And there never had been meant to be one.
They gathered again in the inn, the same room, the same sealed doors, the same careful routine. Polite masks dropped faster this time; there was no need for pretense anymore.
The delegation leader stood near the center of the room, arms folded behind his back.
"Is everything prepared?" he asked calmly. "Can we proceed?"
One of the shinobi stepped forward without hesitation. "Yes. All routes are secured. Distractions are in place. Extraction points confirmed."
Another added, "Surveillance patterns have not changed."
The leader nodded once.
"Everyone knows their role?"
A chorus of quiet affirmations followed.
"Then move."
The delegation dissolved into motion.
Fifteen shinobi exited the inn in small, staggered groups, slipping into the village like shadows cast by lantern light. Five headed toward the Hyuga compound. Ten spread outward, weaving through streets and rooftops to secure escape corridors and choke points across the village.
The assault team reached the outer perimeter of the Hyuga compound just before midnight.
From a distance, the estate looked serene—lanterns glowing softly, walls pristine, silence broken only by the occasional footstep of a patrol. Orderly. Confident.
Too confident.
The delegation leader raised a hand, and the four shinobi with him halted. They observed in silence, Byakugan-less eyes studying patterns and timing instead.
The Hyuga guarded their own.
They always had.
Out of respect for the village and its civilians, they restricted their use of the Byakugan to their own territory. Their perception was absolute within the compound—but it did not extend outward.
That courtesy was the flaw.
The first guard fell without a sound.
A thin projectile arced in from beyond the compound's monitored range, striking the Hyuga sentry at the base of the skull. He crumpled instantly, body caught and lowered by a second shot before it could hit the ground.
A second guard dropped moments later.
Then a third.
Methodical. Efficient.
The assault team never crossed into the compound until the outer watch was already dead.
Once inside, the pace slowed further.
They moved along predetermined routes, avoiding lantern light, slipping through gardens and corridors with practiced ease. When they encountered Hyuga patrols within the estate, they did not rush.
Each confrontation was swift.
Silent chokeholds.
Pressure strikes.
Short-range weapons that never flashed.
Five.
Six.
Each body was placed carefully out of sight.
By the time they reached the main residence, the delegation leader allowed himself a faint, humorless smile.
No internal guards.
Not even here.
The Hyuga truly believed that no one would dare breach the heart of their clan.
They slipped inside.
The house was quiet, the kind of quiet that came from absolute confidence in one's own defenses. Shoji doors slid open without sound. Bare feet crossed polished wood.
They reached the sleeping quarters without resistance.
The delegation leader approached the crib.
The child slept peacefully.
Small. Fragile.
And priceless.
He lifted her with practiced care, supporting her head, ensuring she did not stir. No seal was placed on her yet. No chakra disturbance allowed. Speed mattered more than certainty.
They withdrew.
The escape began smoothly.
They cleared the compound.
Crossed the outer walls.
Reached the first street beyond the estate.
Then—
Sound.
A shout.
A sudden surge of movement from the direction of the Hyuga compound as alarms finally rang out, voices raised, chakra flaring into life.
"Move!" the leader ordered.
They ran.
The team split according to plan, vanishing into the web of prepared routes. The child was passed once, then again, always kept moving, always protected.
Konoha woke up behind them.
Shinobi flooded the streets.
Search flares ignited the night sky.
Two members of the route security team turned without hesitation, engaging pursuers head-on. Explosions tore through alleyways. Smoke and debris filled the air.
The cost was expected.
Necessary.
By the time the forest swallowed them, the delegation was lighter by two shinobi.
They did not stop.
They ran until the trees blurred together, until legs burned and breath rasped, until the village was nothing but a memory behind them.
Hours passed.
Dawn crept into the sky.
They stopped only when exhaustion demanded it.
The clearing they chose was small and defensible, surrounded by dense foliage. A perimeter was set, wounds were assessed, chakra reserves measured.
For the first time since the operation began, there was space to breathe.
Then the air changed.
Shadows detached themselves from the trees.
One.
Then five.
Then more.
By the time the delegation leader realized what was happening, they were surrounded by ANBU—twenty, maybe thirty of them, masks blank, weapons already drawn.
He cursed under his breath and stepped forward, raising one hand in a universal sign of parley.
One of the ANBU stepped out to meet him.
They faced each other in silence.
The ANBU spoke first.
"Lord Danzo sends his regards," the masked shinobi said evenly. "He has arranged for the main pursuit force to be redirected elsewhere."
The delegation leader's eyes narrowed.
"What does Lord Danzo want in return?"
"The messenger has already been sent to Kumogakure," the ANBU replied. "All terms will be made clear."
The leader considered this for a brief moment.
"Then I cannot make that decision here," he said. "But you have my thanks."
For an instant, everything seemed to pause.
Then the delegation leader saw it.
The ANBU's head—
No.
The upper half of it—
Slid sideways.
Cleanly.
Silently.
The thought crossed his mind, sharp and confused.
Strange… an illusion?