Onoki bypassed Minato entirely, his weathered eyes locking onto Obito Uchiha.
Given the precedents of Sasuke Uchiha and Kabuto Yakushi, the old fence-sitter was not surprised in the slightest to see the masked architect of the war standing shoulder-to-shoulder with the Yellow Flash.
“Naruto Uzumaki is a terrifyingly incredible man,” Onoki rasped.
He studied Obito.
“Sasuke Uchiha.
Kabuto Yakushi.
And now you.
He dragged all of you back to the right path.”
Onoki remembered the aftermath of the Fourth Shinobi World War clearly.
Kabuto had earned a dozen executions for his crimes.
Even after Itachi Uchiha broke his mind and forced him to find his true self, the Allied Forces demanded his head.
But Naruto had stood as an unbreakable shield, ensuring Kabuto took over the Konoha Orphanage instead of facing a firing squad.
And Onoki knew exactly whose blood stained Obito’s hands.
He had watched the Allied Shinobi Forces die by the thousands.
But this timeline was clean.
Not a single atrocity had been committed yet.
If Naruto was willing to burn his own soul to cast a temporal kinjutsu, he must have faced an apocalyptic threat.
Onoki decided to keep his mouth shut.
He would gamble on the people Naruto trusted.
He remembered the long, grueling years after the war, working alongside the other Kage to dismantle centuries of systemic hatred.
He remembered finally passing his hat to his granddaughter, Kurotsuchi.
The rest of his future was a blur, but the diplomatic battle over the war criminals remained sharp in his mind.
He remembered Naruto and Kakashi standing before the Kage Summit, leveraging every ounce of their political capital to pardon Sasuke and Kabuto.
The Raikage and Mizukage had fought them bitterly, demanding strict oversight.
Gaara, the Kazekage, had backed Naruto without a second thought.
“Yes,” Obito’s rough voice pulled Onoki back to the present.
Obito swallowed hard.
“He really is an incredible person.
I…
I am sorry for the Fourth Shinobi World War.”
“Don’t flatter yourself, boy.
That blood isn’t solely on your hands.” Onoki waved a gnarled hand dismissively.
“This world has been stockpiling hatred for centuries.
If you hadn’t struck the match, someone else would have.
And more importantly—it hasn’t happened yet.
No one knows the rot of this ninja world better than I do.”
The old man leaned forward, his gaze hardening.
“That being said, you were the catalyst.
Thousands died because of you.
But we are breathing borrowed air now.
I expect you to trade your role as a destroyer for a savior.
That is what Naruto paid for.”
Obito bowed his head deeply.
“Thank you for the guidance, Lord Tsuchikage.
I will.” When he straightened, the haunting guilt in his visible eye had hardened into a sharp, unyielding resolve.
Minato nodded, the tension bleeding from his shoulders.
He turned to Onoki.
“What is your assessment of the current war, Tsuchikage-sama?”
Onoki recognized the tactical pivot.
“The Land of Lightning is the anvil we’ll break against.
That hot-headed brat, A, hasn’t taken the hat yet.
His father is still the Third Raikage, and the old bull is impossible to persuade.”
“I figured as much.
I plan to intercept A and Killer B first to gauge their stance.” Minato pulled a three-pronged kunai from his pouch.
He placed the heavy steel on Onoki’s desk.
“A Flying Thunder God marker.
Use it to contact me if the situation deteriorates.”
Onoki stared at the kunai, then floated upward from his chair.
“I’m coming with you.”
Minato had no diplomatic ties with Kumo; in fact, the Yellow Flash was their most hated enemy on the battlefield.
A had a hair-trigger temper.
Onoki knew that if he let Minato walk in alone, the two sides would be trading lethal blows before a single sentence was spoken.
Minato had hoped for exactly this, but he hesitated.
He glanced back.
Can you transport three?
Obito gave a slow, heavy nod.
Sweat already gathered at his hairline.
Minato took a quiet breath.
“We appreciate the escort, Tsuchikage-sama.”
Onoki barked an order to the Anbu stationed outside the door.
A minute later, heavy footsteps echoed in the hall.
Kitsuchi pushed the doors open.
The massive shinobi stepped into the room and froze.
His eyes locked onto Obito.
Kitsuchi had the memories.
He recognized the monster who had butchered the Allied Forces.
Even though Naruto had insisted Obito was manipulated, even though the Uchiha had died fighting the Otsutsuki, it didn’t matter.
The trauma was too fresh.
Kitsuchi shifted his weight, his chakra flaring with naked hostility and terror.
Onoki sighed.
“Stand down, Kitsuchi.
He is an ally now.
He will not bring harm to the Stone.”
“Understood, Lord Tsuchikage,” Kitsuchi ground out, but his venomous glare didn’t waver.
“Minato Namikaze and I are leaving the village,” Onoki said, ignoring his retainer’s killing intent.
“You have the desk until I return.”
Onoki understood the reaction.
Obito had slaughtered Kitsuchi’s comrades.
A few words from an old man couldn’t erase a massacre.
Obito simply stood in silence, accepting the hatred without a flinch.
He had braced himself for this.
Minato placed a steadying hand on Obito’s shoulder and gave it a firm squeeze, offering no verbal defense.
Onoki drifted to Minato’s side.
Obito’s Sharingan bled into the Mangekyou.
He forcefully drew upon his depleted chakra reserves.
The air around the three men screamed and distorted into a violent spiral, sucking them into the void.
Hundreds of miles away, on the disputed border between the Land of Fire and the Land of Lightning, a ruined village smoldered.
The copper stench of blood hung thick in the air.
Craters from explosive tags scarred the earth, and kunai jutted from the shattered masonry.
A brutal skirmish had just ended.
In the trenches, Konoha and Kumogakure forces stared each other down.
Fingers twitched over weapon pouches.
A single misstep would ignite a slaughter.
The only reason the massacre hadn’t happened was A.
The son of the Third Raikage had bellowed an order for the Kumo vanguard to fall back.
Inside the Kumogakure command tent, A slammed his fist onto the tactical map.
He glared across the table at Dodai and Killer B.
“Dammit!” A barked, frustration radiating from his massive frame.
“What now?
Do we push the line or pull back?”
Decades in the future, Konoha and Kumo would stand as brothers-in-arms.
Killer B would fist-bump the Seventh Hokage, and Karui would marry into the Akimichi clan.
But that future was a ghost.
Right now, in this mud-soaked trench, they were at war.
For anyone without the memories of a doomed timeline, the only language left to speak was blood.