Chapter 76: The Eye of Providence and a God's Vengeance
"Exactly," Uchiha Fugaku pressed, his voice low and persuasive in the shrine's stillness. "Your strength is unquestionable. Your strategic mind is sharp. There would be no issue of competency. You have the makings of a Hokage."
"My recorded achievements are… modest. Hardly enough to sway public opinion," Akira countered, though his tone was thoughtful rather than dismissive. "And there are still Jiraiya and Tsunade. Even if Hiruzen falls, they are natural successors."
"Hmph," Fugaku snorted, a flicker of disdain crossing his features. "Jiraiya carries the stain of Nagato, his student turned monster. That shadow will forever bar his path to the hat. Tsunade is estranged from the council, disillusioned with their politics. She is not a contender."
He leaned closer, his gaze intense. "And achievements? Do they truly matter? What great deeds had Sarutobi Hiruzen accomplished when the Second Hokage simply appointed him? He bypassed all normal succession, yet his seat was never seriously challenged. Power, once held, legitimizes itself."
Akira's expression shifted, a new realization dawning. "Now that you mention it… you're right." Previously indifferent to the Hokage's seat, he hadn't scrutinized its history. The narratives of "strongest Hokage" and "God of Shinobi" were, upon reflection, carefully constructed legends, marketing for internal and external consumption.
"Fame, prestige—these can be manufactured. Cultivated. We have the means and the influence," Fugaku said, a strategic smile touching his lips.
Akira allowed himself a faint smile in return. He understood the mechanics of power now that his attention was drawn to it. All political capital was, in essence, a kind of crafted story.
"So? Are you tempted?" Fugaku asked, watching him closely.
Through careful observation, Fugaku had long discerned Akira's ambivalence toward authority. It was a tool, not an obsession. Such a person, if presented with the ultimate prize and given a decisive push, might seize it. And if he failed, he would likely accept the outcome without destructive bitterness.
Akira met his gaze. "It is, after all, the seat of the Hokage. The pinnacle of power in the shinobi world. The temptation… is undeniable."
Fugaku's smile widened. He had his answer.
"Then we wait for the right moment," Fugaku declared, confidence hardening his voice. "We will make that old man, Sarutobi Hiruzen, a relic of a bygone era."
After Akira had left, Fugaku stood alone before the ancient tablet, a private, knowing smile on his face. Just as I saw. My decision to invest in Akira was correct.
Upon awakening his Mangekyō Sharingan, Fugaku had gained two distinct ocular powers. The first was Amaterasu, the black flames of annihilation. The second, far more esoteric, was Ame-no-Mikoto—the "Heavenly Sight," an ability to peer into fragmented, possible futures.
The latter was nothing like the former. Its cooldown was immense, measured not in hours or days, but in months, even years, scaling with the depth and clarity of the vision sought. And it was utterly random. He could not choose what to see—only glimpses of potential timelines, disconnected scenes delivered by chance.
As clan head, burdened by the uncertainty of his clan's path, Fugaku had eventually used this power in desperation. He sought a way forward for the Uchiha.
The visions were chaotic. But among them was a clear image: Namikaze Minato, clad in the Hokage's robes, taking the oath of office. That single fragment had guided his heavy bet on the Fourth.
And there were others. Brief, violent flashes of a battlefield, with Uchiha Akira at its center, a figure of terrifying, decisive power. Those glimpses, though sparse, had convinced Fugaku to focus his attention and resources on the seemingly ordinary clansman. Their "chance" encounters, the sharing of techniques—all were a calculated investment in a future he had seen a sliver of.
"A pity," Fugaku murmured to the silent stone. "Ame-no-Mikoto is too capricious… and the cost is too high." His last use had incurred an eight-year cooldown. "And yet… the futures it shows are not certain. Acting on limited fragments could lead me astray. Perhaps it is for the best it remains dormant." With a final shake of his head, he turned and left the sacred gloom of the shrine.
As Sarutobi Hiruzen re-solidified his power, the hidden machinery of Konoha shifted. Danzo's Root, once subdued, stirred back to life, its purpose now sharpened: to counter the escalating border tensions.
The death of the Yellow Flash had been interpreted by Konoha's rivals as a moment of profound vulnerability. Iwagakure and Kumogakure, their military strength most preserved from the last war, became particularly bold, sending teams to probe, harass, and raid across the Land of Fire's vast borders. While these were not open invasions, the constant, draining skirmishes stretched Konoha's manpower and strained Hiruzen's weary administration.
The Land of Rain, The Highest Tower of Amegakure.
Nagato's hand was clamped around Hanzō's throat, the old warlord's feet dangling above the rain-slicked floor. The once-feared "Salamander" was a broken puppet in the grip of the Rinnegan.
"You… grew too fast… I underestimated you…" Hanzō's voice was a wet rattle from behind his gas mask.
"It was Yahiko who underestimated you!" Nagato's voice was glacial, his purple eyes blazing with a rage that had festered for years. "We were the fools! We believed you were a man of honor, a leader. We trusted you, and we walked straight into your slaughterhouse!"
His fingers tightened. A sickening crunch of vertebrae and tendon echoed in the chamber. Hanzō's body convulsed once, then fell still.
Nagato let the corpse drop, looking down at it without pity. "His physique is still robust… he will make a superior vessel for the Deva Path." Yahiko's body, even enhanced, had reached its limit, unable to channel the full, growing torrent of Nagato's chakra and ocular power. Hanzō's legendary endurance offered a higher ceiling. "A final, fitting use."
He spoke softly to the memory of his friend. "Rest now, Yahiko. I will realize the dream for both of us."
His moment of quiet reflection was broken by soft, shuffling footsteps. At the entrance to the tower's apex, the bizarre, pitcher-plant form of Zetsu emerged from the shadows.
(End of Chapter)
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