Konoha, Year 20
Deep within a dense forest, a group of shinobi paused to catch their breath, chests heaving. Judging by their battered state—torn uniforms, scraped skin, and blood seeping through hastily wrapped wounds—a brutal battle had ended not long ago.
Senju Tobirama swept his gaze across his disciples. Every one of them looked exhausted and disheveled. Several were clearly injured, forcing themselves upright through sheer will.
Brilliant my whole life… and foolish for one single moment.
To think he'd been ambushed right at the negotiation table after the war had supposedly ended.
And that damned Raikage—how incompetent did you have to be to let your own subordinates plot a coup right under your nose? Even if your men were hard to manage, could they possibly be more troublesome than that pack of hereditary lunatics in the Uchiha clan? I kept those people firmly in line, didn't I?
A bunch of savage brutes. Not an ounce of sense between them.
Cursing the Raikage now was pointless, of course. The man himself had already been slain by the traitorous Gold Horn and Silver Horn Brothers.
Tobirama quietly assessed the chakra remaining in his body. More than half was still intact. With the Flying Thunder God Technique, escaping back to the village alone wouldn't pose any difficulty.
The real problem lay in the collection of burdens behind him.
Given the situation, a decision could no longer be delayed.
Tobirama closed his eyes, sinking into brief contemplation. Save himself… or save his students.
"In order to break away safely, someone has to draw the Gold Horn and Silver Horn Brothers' elite unit away," he said in a low, steady voice. "But the outcome for that person—"
He didn't finish the sentence.
The ending was obvious. Certain death.
Silence fell over the clearing. No one spoke. No one wanted to volunteer for a mission that guaranteed their own demise.
After several seconds, Sarutobi Hiruzen finally stepped forward, his expression firm and resolute.
"I'll go."
Tobirama looked at him. Beneath his stern exterior, the faintest curve lifted at the corner of his lips.
Danzo, meanwhile, stiffened like a startled animal. That brief hesitation earlier had already exposed the gap between him and Hiruzen—a gap he could neither deny nor erase.
"I'm Hokage," Tobirama said firmly. "The decoy should be me. You are the future inheritors of the Will of Fire—the ones who will protect this village."
The words struck like a thunderclap. Everyone began speaking at once, desperately trying to dissuade him. Trading the Hokage's life for theirs—how could their lives possibly be worth that much?
Especially Danzo. His trembling hands and legs steadied as he stepped forward, insisting that he should take Tobirama's place instead.
But there was no time for theatrics. A few sharp reprimands from Tobirama instantly shut Danzo down. Then Tobirama turned toward Hiruzen.
"Monkey… protect the people who admire this village and place their trust in you. Nurture them. Shape them into those who can be entrusted with the next era."
"Starting tomorrow, you are the Hokage."
"Monkey… Konoha is in your hands."
—
At that same moment, far away in Konoha.
Uchiha Clan District.
Inside a quiet room, a teenage boy clasped his hands together in prayer, lips moving nonstop.
"Buddha. Guanyin. Jade Emperor. Jesus…"
"Please show some mercy this time. Let me pull gold—just once."
"Today's a great day. The Second Hokage is negotiating with the Raikage. If nothing unexpected happens, he should be dead as a doornail by now. On a celebration like this, don't tell me you're still giving me trash-tier pulls."
Uchiha Hokuto stared intently at the massive roulette wheel floating in front of him, anticipation burning in his eyes.
As a transmigrator trapped in the deadly world of Naruto, this roulette system was the foundation of his survival.
Aside from the beginner gift pack—which had granted him three one-day Mangekyō Sharingan trial cards—everything else depended on the wheel.
One guaranteed draw every month.
Additional draws could be earned by completing tasks issued by the roulette itself.
Through more than a decade of trial and error, Hokuto had figured out the prize tiers:
White — daily necessities: clothes, shoes, stools, milk, and the like.
Green — ninja tools: kunai, shuriken, explosive tags.
Red — ninjutsu: everything from forbidden techniques down to basic Shadow Clones.
Orange — kekkei genkai: Byakugan, Wood Release, Ice Release, Magnet Release, Lava Release, and more.
Gold — the absolute pinnacle of this world: Mangekyō Sharingan, Eternal Mangekyō, Sage Body, Perfect Sage Mode, Chakra Fruit.
Sixteen years since transmigrating, Hokuto had lived permanently stuck between white and green. Pulling red already felt like winning a New Year lottery ticket. Orange had happened exactly once.
As for gold?
He didn't even dare dream about it.
"Ding-dong. Welcome, Host. Initiating draw."
Hokuto tapped the button.
A crisp chime rang out as the massive wheel lit up. The pointer began spinning across thousands of slots—white dominating most of the surface, green scattered between, red appearing only as tiny specks, orange almost nonexistent, and gold reduced to one or two razor-thin slivers you could barely see without squinting.
"Gold. Gold."
"Give me gold!!!"
Hokuto's eyes reddened as his three-time Sharingan spun, locking onto the pointer. His fists clenched so tightly his knuckles turned pale.
"…Damn it. Green."
"Three explosive tags."
He exhaled slowly. As expected—always white or green.
Still, explosive tags weren't bad. Even a single tag sold for decent money. Three of them could fetch a respectable sum. Hokuto forced himself to accept the result.
If he ever wanted gold, relying on luck was a dead end. He'd never been blessed with the fortune of a chosen one.
If you wanted something in this world, you had to seize it with your own hands.
Hokuto opened the roulette's task interface.
At the very top sat a long-term mission that had existed since the day he officially became a ninja.
Task: Become the Hokage of Konoha.
Reward: One guaranteed Gold-tier roulette draw.
Now.
This was the perfect opportunity to complete it.
Born during Tobirama's reign, becoming Hokage through legitimate channels was simply impossible.
Become Tobirama's disciple? Earn his personal recognition? Receive a direct appointment as successor?
He was an Uchiha.
The clan crest stitched onto his clothes. The tomoe spinning in his eyes. Just looking at him was enough to remind Tobirama of that madman—Uchiha Madara.
And Madara had been truly unhinged.
Every Uchiha who awakened the Sharingan had problems. Every single one of them. Including Hokuto himself.
From childhood, he trained in killing techniques. He graduated at six and went straight into real missions. Kunai in hand, cutting people down without hesitation.
How could that not leave psychological scars?
Those who awakened the Mangekyō were even worse—fully evolved lunatics.
If an Uchiha ever truly became Hokage, who could guarantee that one day a genuine madman wouldn't slap his forehead, have a brilliant idea, and drag all of Konoha straight into oblivion?
If someone told Tobirama that the Uchiha were plotting a world-saving master plan—to create an unprecedented technique that would hang every ninja in the world on a tree and let them dream peacefully, thereby achieving eternal peace—
Tobirama would absolutely take that claim seriously.
And immediately launched a full investigation into the Uchiha clan.
Because the Uchiha really might do something like that.
After all…
They were all insane.
Hokuto's gaze drifted back to the glowing task panel.
Become the Hokage.
One guaranteed gold draw.
Tobirama was about to die.
And the future of Konoha was about to change hands.
A slow, dangerous smile curved across Hokuto's lips, his Sharingan gleaming faintly in the dim room—already calculating how far he was willing to go to seize that throne.
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