Chapter 44: The Name is No Longer Needed (Patreon)

Senju Tobirama stood silently in the Hokage’s Office, his sharp gaze fixed on the sprawling sight of Konoha Village through the tall window. The village bustled faintly in the distance, lantern lights flickering like stars against the darkening sky. Yet, in Tobirama’s eyes, it was not a thriving home but a fragile fortress on the verge of crumbling.

For a long time, he did not speak. His silence carried the weight of countless calculations, a mind filled with strategies, probabilities, and sacrifices. The world outside saw him as cold and merciless. Few understood that every cold decision he made was born of responsibility—an acceptance that sentimentality had no place in survival.

Now, more than ever, his mind was painfully clear.

He knew what he was. This body was not his own—it was a vessel of Edo Tensei, a pale imitation of life. Though he retained a fraction of his formidable power, he was no longer the Hokage who had once stood at the village’s helm. To parade himself as leader again would not only be impossible, it would destabilize everything. His existence itself was a contradiction, a shadow of the past trespassing upon the present.

What Konoha needed now was not a dead man walking, but a legitimate Hokage—a leader who could stand in the light, speak with authority, and rally allies without question.

Tobirama turned the thought over like a blade in his hand. A Hokage he could control… a voice he could shape.

At present, that voice was Hiruzen Sarutobi. Though flawed in his decisions and softer than Tobirama would like, Hiruzen had ruled for years. His authority, while strained, was still respected both in Konoha and beyond. He could still stabilize the village’s internal situation, if guided properly.

But Tobirama’s vision stretched further. The crisis consuming the Ninja World was not a temporary storm—it was an oncoming cataclysm. For lasting stability, the mantle of Hokage would one day have to pass to Tsunade. Her bloodline, her strength, and her natural charisma made her the only one who could inherit the Senju’s will while also binding the village together.

Thinking of this, Tobirama’s plan solidified. There was no more time for hesitation.

The countdown toward destruction had already begun. Every faction, every resource, every ounce of strength—from the Land of Fire’s Daimyo to the humblest civilian militia—had to be mobilized. And if persuasion was not enough, then swift and merciless force would be necessary.

His cold gaze shifted from the window to the man seated at the desk. Hiruzen Sarutobi, the Third Hokage, looked older than his years. Wrinkles marked his face, and his once-fiery eyes were dimmed by hesitation. Tobirama’s voice cut through the silence like steel on stone.

“Hiruzen,” he said, solemn and unyielding, “the Ninja World is balanced on the edge of ruin. As Hokage, you must act—immediately.”

Hiruzen straightened, startled by the sheer weight behind his teacher’s words.

Tobirama continued, his tone like a command carved into iron:
“Within the next two days, the entire Land of Fire must hear your voice—the voice of the Hokage. Not just Konoha, not just the ninja clans. Even the Daimyo’s Mansion must be brought under your control. Without exception.”

Hiruzen blinked, stunned. His breath caught.
“The Daimyo… under control?”

For a man raised in the political structure of shinobi and samurai, this thought was blasphemous. The Daimyo of the Land of Fire had always been untouchable—the figurehead of feudal authority that even Hokage respected. To seize power from him would not only overturn centuries of order, it would shatter the delicate trust between village and country.

Shock flickered openly across his face. He could not hide it, not from his teacher.

He whispered, “Sensei… this…”

But Tobirama did not let him finish. His voice cut across the hesitation like a blade.
“Hiruzen, you have wasted enough time already. The Ninja World burns around us. Every hour lost is another weakness exposed. If you hesitate again, you will doom not only Konoha, but the Land of Fire itself.”

His words struck like cold rain.

Hiruzen’s heart wavered. Was it true? Could the Daimyo, the ancient seat of their nation’s power, be reduced to an obstacle in the path of survival?

He remembered the battles in the Land of Rain, the overwhelming might of the Rinnegan user, the whispers of war brewing across nations. If the world truly was ending, then what meaning did politics hold? Could they afford to waste resources on a powerless aristocrat while shinobi bled on the frontlines?

The silence stretched long. Finally, Tobirama turned back toward the window, his voice low but absolute.
“Show your decisiveness.”

The words reverberated in Hiruzen’s chest. He closed his eyes, exhaling slowly. When he opened them again, the hesitation had not vanished, but something else had taken its place—a grim understanding of responsibility.

“…I understand, Sensei.”

He knew that from this moment, his decisions would shape the fate of the Ninja World. And there could be no turning back.


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The road from the Hidden Rain Village stretched long and silent.

The earth was damp, their footsteps muffled against the mud, and the heavy clouds above promised another storm. Kakashi and Danzo walked side by side, yet the distance between them felt immeasurable. Not a word passed between them at first. The echoes of their battle against Pain still clung to them, heavy and unresolved.

At last, Danzo’s gravelly voice broke the stillness.
“Kakashi.”

Kakashi turned slightly, his single eye narrowing beneath his hitai-ate.

Danzo’s tone was subdued, touched with weariness, yet carried a rare calm.
“During that battle… did you also sense it? The emotional fluctuations of the Rinnegan user?”

Kakashi froze mid-step, replaying the fight in his mind—the cold steel, the overwhelming chakra, the eerie coordination of the Six Paths of Pain. But beyond that, there had been… something else.

Yes. In the split second when blades clashed, he had felt it. A suppressed surge of emotion, like a voice buried deep within the soul struggling to cry out. It was not the detached malice of an enemy, but a resonance. Something profoundly human.

After a pause, he murmured, “…It seemed like there was something. A faint… feeling.”

Danzo nodded slightly, his single visible eye unreadable.
“Perhaps the three great dōjutsu are not as separate as we believe. The Sharingan, the Byakugan, and the Rinnegan… if they can sense emotions, perhaps one day they can truly understand each other.”

Understand each other.

The words struck Kakashi like a distant echo. Obito’s face flashed in his mind, followed by the weight of unspoken guilt. Could true understanding really exist between shinobi, between enemies? Or was it only a dream born of desperation?

He said nothing more. He only clenched his fists within his gloves. He needed strength—more strength than he had now. Without it, words like “understanding” would remain empty.

The silence returned, heavier than before.

Then Danzo’s gaze flicked back toward his Root operatives trailing behind. His eye hardened. At his signal, they swiftly formed seals, activating the Reverse Summoning Jutsu.

The world folded in a blur of chakra. In the next heartbeat, Danzo stepped into the darkened corridors of the Root’s underground base.

But the moment his sandals touched the cold stone floor, unease flooded him. His chest tightened, his senses flared.

“…Something’s wrong.”

His brows furrowed, and the concealed Sharingan beneath his bandages spun violently. He swept the area, searching for abnormalities. The Root base was silent, too silent. The faint air carried a residue of chakra that was not his own.

Danzo knelt, pressing his palm to the stone floor. A faint trace lingered—a snake’s whisper of chakra, slick and poisonous.

His face darkened.
“Orochimaru.”

The name hissed from his lips like venom. The serpent had slithered into his domain while he was away.

Before his thoughts could sharpen further, a shadow flickered before him.

“Lord Danzo.”

An Anbu operative dropped to one knee, his voice clipped and formal.
“The Hokage requests your immediate presence in his office. There are urgent matters to discuss.”

Hiruzen.

Danzo’s expression did not change, but his mind churned. Why summon him now? Was this connected to Orochimaru’s intrusion? Or was Hiruzen finally making his move?

He gave a curt nod, motioned the Anbu to lead, and strode from the base without hesitation.

As he passed through the underground corridors, his thoughts lingered on the traces he had felt. Orochimaru never acted without reason. If he had left a trail, it was not a mistake—it was bait. Another layer of conspiracy hidden in shadow.

At last, Danzo emerged into the night, the faint glow of Konoha’s lights casting long shadows across his face. The Hokage Tower loomed ahead, a beacon of authority that felt more like a battlefield.

His steps echoed along the corridor as he approached the office. Each tap of his sandals on the wooden floor sounded like a drumbeat of war.

Inside, Hiruzen Sarutobi sat alone, pipe unlit, his expression grave. He looked up as Danzo entered, as though he had been waiting.

The silence between them stretched taut, an invisible current filling the air.

Danzo’s low voice broke it first.
“Hiruzen, you called for me?”

His tone was calm, but underneath, there was suspicion, sharp as a drawn kunai.

And beneath the silence that followed, both men knew—something had shifted.


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