Hiruzen Sarutobi was a little hard to read.
But everyone in the know knew exactly what a thoroughly disgusting role Danzo Shimura had played in all of this.
As long as your surname was Uchiha, your head could be parted from your body at any moment while you slept.
When Yoru first transmigrated, he’d thought about using his young age to find a chance to defect from Konoha.
Then the world would be wide open, and he could run off to hide in some remote little country the flames of war couldn’t reach.
He’d wait out the Night of the Massacre, then come back out and live free.
But this idea survived in his head for all of three seconds before being strangled.
In this twisted ninja world, among the rogue ninja on the wanted lists—setting aside the ones secretly backed by their governments as double agents—how many ever got a decent ending?
Rogue ninja on Orochimaru’s level still got hunted after leaving their villages; it was only that his strength was so overwhelming the Anbu couldn’t touch him.
And a child defecting?
The Anbu wouldn’t even need to send a proper squad; they could just dispatch two Chunin to pack his head into a sealed scroll and express-mail it back to Konoha.
Without the absolute strength of a Kage-level ninja, the moment a normal rogue ninja left their village, they’d be hunted to the ends of the earth by the Anbu of every village.
Even the money-grubbing bounty hunters of the Black Market Exchange would treat you like a walking stack of cash.
And in the end you’d die in a gutter with no one even to claim the body.
Defection was just swapping one way of dying for another.
And probably dying more miserably than if he’d stayed in the village.
That road of retreat was completely blocked.
Ahead lay a bottomless abyss, behind him a sheer cliff.
Since there was no retreat— then only one path was left.
Get frantically stronger, stay in the village, and flip the whole table over!
Once he’d worked this out, the seriousness in Yoru’s eyes dissolved layer by layer.
He wouldn’t retreat anymore.
Not only had he transmigrated into an Uchiha, he also held a system that let him break common sense and grow stronger by shattering other people’s composure!
He didn’t just need to survive—he needed to live more brazenly than anyone else!
In the face of those preordained cruel fates, why should he only defend?
Why did he have to die according to the script they’d written?
Yoru’s lips curled up again into that familiar, deeply “nuke-nice” smile.
The core ability the system had granted him was never just raw power for a head-on fight.
It was interference.
Interfering with people’s hearts, with the situation, with fate itself.
He had the all-seeing perspective of a transmigrator—he knew the time, place, and key turning point of every disaster to come.
With the system, he had every ability to interfere with the course of this world.
Interfere with the plot and turn the tide!
Yoru’s heart pounded as an utterly insane plan took shape in his mind. This chapter was taken from g.com without permission.
Let those who weren’t supposed to die go on living.
Let those preordained tragedies veer completely off their rails.
This wouldn’t just make up for the regrets he’d carried as a mere spectator in his past life—more importantly, profit!
Enormous, colossal profit!
Once characters who were supposed to die survived, once the original plot was forcibly twisted— the masterminds who thought they controlled everything would have their schemes thrown into total disarray.
Danzo, Uchiha Madara, Black Zetsu…
Every move these people had meticulously planned would take a fatal wrong turn, because the key piece failed to fall into place on time.
Deviation brought chaos.
Chaos brought emotional turmoil.
And emotional turmoil was Emotional Damage Points.
The resulting plot butterfly effect would set the entire ninja world in an uproar.
You think he’s dead?
Sorry—he’s living just fine.
You think the plan worked?
Sorry—it fell apart at the very first step.
How many Emotional Damage Points could that ultimate sense of cognitive whiplash detonate?
This was basically detonating an ultimate move right in the face of every nerve in the ninja world!
This was the highest realm of the ultimate fleecing!
Once the butterfly effect spread, the day those men standing at the very top of the ninja world had their composure collapse, the numbers in the system backend would probably explode.
By then, wouldn’t Emotional Damage Points come flooding in like a tsunami?
Millions?
Tens of millions weren’t out of the question!
His mind made up, Yoru quickly sorted through the recent major events of the ninja world.
It was now the 43rd year of Konoha, and he was six.
The most recent, most far-reaching, most nerve-racking tragedy for Konoha’s upper echelons—the one closest to him in time.
Yoru’s eyes suddenly lit up.
The 44th year of Konoha.
Which was next year!
The suicide of the White Fang of the Leaf, Sakumo Hatake!
Kakashi’s father.
That supreme powerhouse whose name rang across the ninja world, whose strength rivaled the Sannin, before whom even the legendary Sannin had to give way.
Because he chose to abandon a mission to save his comrades during an S-rank assignment, he came home to be collectively shunned by the very people he’d saved and by the villagers.
His reputation ruined, his spirit broken, he ultimately hanged himself in his own living room in the depths of his humiliation.
With the White Fang dead, Konoha lost one of its pillars.
Needless to say, Konoha’s upper echelons had played an utterly disgusting role in the whole affair.
And this event was less than a year away.
Yoru lay in the dark, his eyes shining frighteningly bright.
As long as he made enough preparations within this year and forcibly hauled this White Fang—a man who had given so much—back from the dead end of suicide…
the chain reaction would completely rewrite the road Konoha walked for the next twenty years.
Danzo Shimura’s composure would absolutely detonate on the spot!
The old geezer would pour all that effort into political suppression, only to find the White Fang sitting at home sipping tea.
If that old man’s defenses broke, the points that exploded out would be an astronomical figure beyond measure.
And on top of that—Kakashi had been tormented so thoroughly by him today.
Behind those dead-fish eyes was nothing but disgust, the urge to shred him into a thousand pieces.
Yoru pictured another exquisite scene.
If one day Kakashi found out that the person who’d dragged his own father back from the gates of hell…
was the very same Uchiha Yoru who’d stabbed his legs with kunai on the first day of school and put him through public social death…
Tsk, tsk!
Just imagining that scene made Yoru unable to hold back a laugh.
Kakashi’s worldview would shatter on the spot.
That massive whiplash, plus the weight of owing a debt for his father’s life, would be enough to grind this prodigy into the dirt countless times over.
Those iconic dead-fish eyes would probably roll clean back in his head.
Yoru let out a long, contented breath and rolled over.
On this crisis-ridden Konoha night, he set his first small goal for defying fate in this cruel ninja world.
Don’t be cannon fodder, don’t be a defector, and absolutely don’t be a lamb waiting for the slaughter.
I want to be the player who flips the whole board.
“Sakumo Hatake.”
Yoru lay on his back, staring at the ceiling.
His pitch-black pupils reflected the pale moonlight outside the window; his voice was soft, yet beyond resolute.
“Your life—I’ll protect it.”
He closed his eyes and chuckled a few times.
In the darkness, Yoru muttered one more line.
“That poser Kakashi…”
A knowing smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.
“The favor you’ll owe me is going to be huge.”
Tomorrow, a whole Ninja Academy of leeks was waiting to be harvested.
The future of Konoha was destined to swerve wildly off course—all behind Yoru’s “nuke-nice” smile.