On the other side, after leaving the training ground, Kurenai Yuhi immediately headed to the Hokage Building.
“Hokage-sama.” “Ah, Kurenai, you’re back.
How did it go?
Is that boy Chiya up to the task?” Hiruzen Sarutobi set down his pipe and asked with a gentle expression.
“I lost.” Kurenai frankly admitted the fact that she had been defeated by Chiya.
“Oh?” Hiruzen’s eyebrows arched imperceptibly, a flash of surprise crossing his eyes.
According to the intelligence he had on file, while Chiya had talent, he shouldn’t have had the strength to defeat Kurenai.
Did he hide something?
At this thought, Hiruzen’s eyes narrowed slightly in a non-threatening, thoughtful manner.
“Tell me the specifics.” He loved geniuses, but he absolutely despised geniuses who exceeded his control.
“Yes, Hokage-sama.” As she spoke, Kurenai recounted the events of the duel, carefully omitting the parts where Chiya had teased her.
“I see.
It sounds like you were indeed too careless, Kurenai.” Upon learning that Chiya had simply applied knowledge from the Academy textbooks to counter her genjutsu and took advantage of her complacency to win, Hiruzen’s brow immediately smoothed out.
That’s right!
A genius without a Kekkei Genkai would, at best, end up being a second Kakashi.
He would only serve as an asset to the Hokage, posing far less threat than the Uchiha clan—no need to worry about him.
“I apologize, Hokage-sama.
I have disappointed you,” Kurenai said apologetically.
“Just be more careful next time.
Remember not to underestimate anyone.
I see the boy has an aptitude for genjutsu; you should teach him more about it in the future.” Hiruzen stood up, tapped his pipe against the tray, and added meaningfully, “That child has a tragic background.
In fact…
he is just like you.” “He is also…” Kurenai froze, suddenly recalling the scene six years ago when her father, Yuhi Shinku, had resolutely charged toward the Nine-Tails to protect the village and met his end.
A wave of indescribable sorrow surged in her heart.
Hiruzen nodded.
“His parents both died during the Nine-Tails incident to protect the village.
So…
help the boy grow up as soon as possible.” “I understand, Hokage-sama.” Kurenai responded respectfully and exited the office.
She clutched her chest, feeling a deep ache.
As someone who had “walked the same path of sorrow,” no one understood better than her how painful it was to watch one’s parents charge to their deaths.
At that time, she had already been in her teens, while Chiya had been barely five or six.
Simultaneously, recalling the duel, she suddenly felt she had overthought things.
Although the brat Chiya had decent taijutsu, he only knew the most basic of techniques.
The reason he had won was simply because she hadn’t taken the fight seriously from the beginning.
Still, that kid is truly hateful.
Daring to confess to me in public, kissing my hand, and teasing me repeatedly…
At this thought, her pretty face flushed red, full of shame and anger.
She secretly vowed to herself: Damn brat, next time, I’ll make sure you regret it…
No sooner had Kurenai left than an Anbu operative walked in.
“Hokage-sama, Lord Danzo has arrived.” The operative knelt on one knee and said respectfully.
“Let him in.” Hiruzen frowned.
He had sent word for Danzo to come days ago, and the fact that he had delayed until now was a clear sign that Danzo didn’t respect him as Hokage.
“Hokage-sama…
Lord Danzo said he isn’t comfortable meeting you here; he is waiting in the conference room,” the operative said nervously.
“I see.” Despite his internal dissatisfaction, Hiruzen suppressed his temper, maintaining his gentle, easygoing image in front of his subordinates, and headed to the fully enclosed conference room.
“Hiruzen, you’re here.” Danzo’s left arm was already replaced by a prosthetic; from the outside, one couldn’t tell anything was amiss.
“Hmph.” Hiruzen flicked his sleeve irritably and sat down.
“Danzo, look at the mess you’ve made!” “You already know?” Danzo frowned.
Had he already learned that my attempt to steal the eye backfired?
“Danzo, you went too far this time.” Hiruzen skipped the pleasantries and went straight to the accusations.
“Too far?” Danzo gave a cold laugh.
“How was I excessive?
Everything I did was for the sake of the village.” “A ninja is defined by self-sacrifice.” “To protect the village, what does the life of a mere Uchiha Shisui matter?” Danzo sat in his chair, locking eyes with Hiruzen, refusing to budge an inch.
“I know what you want to say.
That Shisui was an excellent ninja who inherited Kagami’s will, that he carried the Will of Fire, and so on.” “But have you considered this?
If he had harbored malicious intent—if he had controlled you or me, then incited the Uchiha clan to launch a coup—Konoha would have fallen into total ruin.” “The foundation established by the First Hokage would have been destroyed in an instant.” “As the ‘Root’ of Konoha, I have an inescapable duty to prevent such disasters before they occur.” Danzo’s words were resonant and firm.
By the end, he had stood up in his excitement.
He wasn’t making excuses; he genuinely believed that the Uchiha clan’s power had to be restricted, or even that this unstable factor threatening Konoha had to be purged.
If it weren’t for that, he wouldn’t have lost his left arm, nor would he be suffering this curse where any new limb he attached immediately withered away, forcing him to rely on prosthetics.
“Is that your justification for stealing his eyes?” Danzo’s words hadn’t caught Hiruzen off guard—or perhaps, this was exactly the result he had wanted.
But a reprimand was still necessary, lest Danzo grow too bold and eventually ride roughshod over him, the “strongest Hokage in history.” However, at these words, Danzo was stunned.
“You still don’t know?” “Know what?” Hiruzen asked, frowning.
“I didn’t get Shisui’s eye.” Danzo pulled back his sleeve, revealing the prosthetic, and explained the whole incident—about the attempt to seize the Sharingan and the mysterious person who had “plucked the peach” midway.
He even revealed the fact that he couldn’t transplant new limbs anymore.
“Are you telling the truth?” Hiruzen’s expression turned solemn instantly.
“Do you think I’d sacrifice my own arm just to lie to you?” Danzo retorted.
Hiruzen did not contradict him.
Indeed, while Danzo often preached about “ninja self-sacrifice,” when it came down to it, Danzo was a man who prized his own life.
To put it bluntly, Danzo was a man even more afraid of death than Hiruzen himself.
At the very least, when the village reached a life-or-death crisis, Hiruzen would be the one to sacrifice himself—he would never be a coward.
That was the fundamental difference between them.
And that was why Hiruzen, not Danzo, was the one who had inherited the Hokage’s seat from the Second.
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