The rain drizzled gently over the forest outside Konoha, casting a gray veil over the trees. Akari moved swiftly through the underbrush, his presence nearly undetectable even to seasoned shinobi. He wasn't alone—behind him, two masked ANBU followed his lead, silent and sharp-eyed.
The mission had come directly from Madara.
Intelligence reports whispered of secret gatherings near the Land of Rivers—groups of rogue shinobi refusing to acknowledge Konoha's authority, united by a desire to restore the fractured independence of the old clans.
If left unchecked, they would fester into something worse: rebellion.
Akari crouched by a moss-covered ridge and signaled for silence. Below, in a clearing dimly lit by torchlight, six cloaked figures stood in a half-circle. One of them—a grizzled man with a scar across his jaw—spoke with heated conviction.
"They think peace means domination. We weren't born to kneel."
Murmurs of agreement rippled through the others.
Another added, "The Senju wear smiles, but their roots dig deep. The Uchiha guard like hawks. Soon, our children won't know what freedom was."
Akari's hand moved to his blade, but he didn't draw it. He listened.
"You think they'll stop at unifying the nations? You think they won't rewrite our names, our history?"
Then came the voice that froze Akari in place—a familiar tone, smooth and dangerous.
"Which is why we must strike before they do."
The speaker stepped into the light, and Akari's eyes widened.
He recognized the man. Kuroyama—a former shinobi of the Hidden Mist, thought dead. Brilliant, charismatic, and deadly. The kind of leader who could light a flame in the shadows.
"This peace is built on a blade's edge," Kuroyama said. "Let's show them what happens when it tips."
The crowd nodded.
Akari whispered into his communicator. "We found the spark. Preparing to extinguish."
But even as he said it, something in his chest stirred—uncertainty.
Were they truly wrong?
Back in Konoha, Madara and Hashirama met beneath the monument hill. Though age had barely touched them, the years weighed heavier than ever.
"Akari hasn't reported in yet," Hashirama said, gazing out over the village.
"He will," Madara replied. "He's more loyal than most."
Hashirama looked to his old friend. "You trust him?"
Madara didn't hesitate. "With the future."
Meanwhile, Akari watched as the rebels dispersed into the night, their plan in motion. He could end them now. He could signal the strike.
But he didn't.
He waited, watched, and followed.
Some truths couldn't be cut down with a sword. Not yet.