The late afternoon sun cut golden slants through the blinds of the Hokage’s office, warming dust motes that drifted lazily in the still air.
Kakashi Hatake leaned back in his chair, eye narrowing slightly behind the edge of his ever-present book, the spine now forgotten against his gloved thumb.
On his desk lay a freshly opened scroll marked with the seal of Kumogakure—bold, black ink, aggressive like its sender.
His other hand rested on the report from Amegakure.
A fragile mess, that one.
After Nagato and Konan had fallen, the power vacuum left in their wake had become a festering wound.
Various warlords, rogue rain-nin, and ambitious petty lords had all tried claiming the ruins of Ame, but the people—traumatized, rain-soaked, and exhausted—refused to trust anyone beyond their borders.
Ame was breaking apart, quietly and in pieces.
And yet Naruto, stubborn as he was, had made a promise.
A promise to Nagato.
A promise to rebuild what was broken.
Kakashi exhaled slowly, rubbing his temple.
He didn’t blame the villagers for their mistrust.
After being manipulated by Akatsuki, betrayed by both peace and war alike, they had locked themselves behind high walls and a hundred thousand rainy nights.
No amount of Leaf emissaries or humanitarian aid could pierce that shell.
Not yet, anyway.
But Naruto believed in it.
Believed in them.
And if Kakashi had learned anything from his student, it was that you don’t bet against Naruto Uzumaki.
Just then, the door creaked open.
Shizune strode in, dressed sharp as always, dark eyes already apologetic.
She carried a heavy parchment like a funeral scroll, rolling it out as she approached.
“The Raikage sent it,” she said dryly.
“Again.”
Kakashi didn’t need her to elaborate.
He sighed—deep, tired, the kind of sigh that seemed to press years into his shoulders.
“Let me guess,” he muttered.
“A heartfelt plea for unity and understanding?”
Shizune snorted.
“More like a blood-soaked tantrum.”
Kakashi skimmed the message.
It was the same as before—thinly veiled demands for justice, wrapped in diplomatic language that fooled no one.
The Raikage wanted Sasuke Uchiha’s head on a plate.
Or, barring that, her body in a cell.
A Kumo cell.
“They want her Sharingan,” Kakashi said flatly.
“That’s all it’s ever been. The rest is just window dressing.”
“And her bloodline,” Shizune added, voice taut with disgust.
“They want to breed her.”
Kakashi didn’t say anything for a long moment.
His visible eye hardened, gaze drifting past the edges of the scroll, toward something much darker.
“Kumo’s always had a taste for bloodlines,” Shizune continued, tone sharp now.
“They tried to kidnap Hinata when she was a child. Neji’s father died because of it. Now this.”
“Shameless,” Kakashi murmured.
He could already imagine the arguments.
“She’s dangerous.” “She attacked the Five Kage.” “She’s unstable.” All technically true.
All irrelevant.
Because what the Raikage wanted wasn’t justice—it was leverage.
Kekkei Genkai.
Military advantage.
A weapon with the Uchiha name.
“And they’re not alone,” Shizune added, leaning forward.
“Iwa and Kiri have been whispering behind closed doors. Same concerns. Same suggestions. No one’s said it outright yet, but… they’re waiting. For a moment of weakness. For Naruto to lose his grip. For us to flinch.”
“And the Samurai?”
“They remember the Land of Iron. She made fools of them at the Summit. Killed a few of their number. Their pride’s still bleeding.”
Kakashi closed the scroll with a flick of his wrist, setting it aside like a pile of garbage.
He didn’t need to reread the threats painted as diplomacy.
What he needed was time—and time was running out.
“The only thing keeping them from taking matters into their own hands,” Shizune said quietly, “is Naruto. He saved them. He saved all of us. And they know it.”
Kakashi leaned forward, elbows resting on the desk, hands steepled beneath his chin.
“Then we use that,” he said simply.
“His goodwill is currency. As long as he stands by her, they won’t dare act openly. But we can’t count on that lasting forever.”
“We need a plan,” Shizune agreed.
“No,” Kakashi said, voice low.
“We need a decision.”
He stood, straightening his coat.
The hat of the Sixth sat idle on the shelf, untouched today.
Some symbols weighed heavier than steel.
“Summon the councillors,” he said.
“The elders. The clan heads. Even the civilian representatives. Tell them it’s urgent.”
Shizune paused.
“It’s really come to this?”
Kakashi met her eyes, calm and clear.
“Sasuke Uchiha is a threat. She’s also a hero. A war criminal and a war survivor. We can’t pretend she’s not both. So we decide what she is to us now—Konoha’s responsibility, or Konoha’s liability.”
“And if the council votes to hand her over?”
He didn’t hesitate.
“Then we’ll deal with that when it comes. But I won’t let a decision be made in silence.”
Shizune nodded, bowing slightly.
“Understood.”
She turned to leave, but paused at the door.
“Naruto’s not going to like this.”
“No,” Kakashi said, settling back into his chair.
“He won’t. But he deserves to know what we’re up against. And he’ll fight harder because of it.”
The door closed with a soft thud behind her, and Kakashi let the silence settle around him again.
Outside, the village hummed—peaceful, thriving, and oblivious to the storm creeping just beneath the surface.
He reached for the Ame report again, but his hand hesitated.
Instead, he stared out the window, eyes distant.
The world had been saved, yes.
But it hadn’t healed.
And wounds left untreated always fester.