Village Hidden in the Clouds – Evening – Raikage's Office
ROAR!
CRACK!!
BANG! BANG-BANG!!!
Lightning split the sky like an ancient god's rage, its scream crashing through the windows. The tremor rippled through the glass panes, vibrating deep in the air like an unspoken omen.
Standing before the window, arms crossed like a mountain of muscle and fury, the Fourth Raikage watched the dance of storms with unreadable eyes.
The man was no stranger to thunder.
That ever-churning sea of thunderclouds, jagged and heavy, had crowned their skies for generations. He'd grown up beneath this same storm-choked sky. As a child, he once believed they were punishment from the heavens — divine retribution cast upon a cursed people. In his youth, he blamed the world for those clouds, swearing to fight and claim what was denied to his people.
But as a man — hardened by war, tempered by duty — he saw it clearly now:
They were just clouds. Just storms.
And yet, even stripped of symbolism, they remained a perfect mirror to his people's spirit — restless, roaring, ready to break.
His gaze swept downward, over the quiet, expectant rooftops of his village. The streets were more vacant than usual, even though the festival of peace had begun. Peace, what a heavy word. One they could never afford unless someone else paid the price for it.
He turned from the window, back into the dimness of his office.
Sitting across the room, unusually quiet, was his brother — Killer B. His younger brother sat silently, arms crossed, lips tight. The same brother who'd stood beside him through every battle, every fallout, every whispered assassination order.
But these past weeks…
The silence between them had grown thick with tension, unspoken but suffocating.
"You understand, don't you, B?" A's voice was quiet but ironclad. "This is for the good of the village. If we seize the Byakugan bloodline and neutralize that jinchūriki... Kumo's strength will triple. Konoha's will fracture."
But B didn't look up. His fingers rested lazily on the hilt of one of his swords, head tilted to the side, as if his own thoughts were drowning out the storm outside.
And then, in his usual off-beat cadence, B answered.
"Using two kids to breed the many,
Stealing their sight, cold hands uncanny...
Yeah, it's good for the village, feels shiny...
You call this 'good for the village'?
But what about that kid, left without any?
Is this really salvation?
Or just another mutation —
Of cruelty, wrapped in justification?"
A's jaw clenched, but he said nothing. It was rare for B to rhyme so bitterly.
But what stung wasn't the words — it was the truth in them.
B stood up, not bothering to wait for a response. Sheathing his blade with a sharp, final snap.
"He's a boy, A. A child with nothing. No warmth. No hand to hold. And you'd let him die to make our lives easier?"
There was no anger in his voice. Just hurt. He didn't argue anymore. He didn't shout. He didn't need to.
He walked out, wordlessly — off to his solitude, or perhaps to speak with the Eight-Tails, or write a new song that no one would hear. leaving behind the storm and his brother's words Or perhaps to bury the guilt A wouldn't speak of.
A leaned heavily against his chair, glaring down at the documents on his desk like they were mocking him.
He reopened the folder on his desk. Within it, a single name was underlined repeatedly:
Menma Uzumaki.
The jinchūriki who had survived the impossible.
He didn't flinch from his choices — but he hated needing to make them.
This wasn't just war.
It was a sacrifice.
Two months ago, their supposedly-dead spy had returned — battered, filthy, and half-mad, but carrying gold:
Precise movements and training routines of Konoha's jinchūriki. Not just where Menma trained.
But how he trained. When he was vulnerable.
Confirmation of Hyūga twins — heirs without cursed seals. Clean eyes. Perfect for harvesting.
A chance, at last, to strike. A mission was born from that moment — not of greed, but of necessity.
It was the only way.
To claim the Byakugan for themselves.
To rid the world of Konoha's newest weapon.
And to do it all without leaving behind an open war.
What followed was weeks of brutal planning.
Twenty elite jōnin personally selected —
Twelve for the jinchūriki. Eight for the eyes.
Their mission: infiltrate. isolate. extract.
Or if impossible — eliminate.
A opened a scroll detailing the mission outline and narrowed his eyes. "Everything was calculated. Everything would unfold with precision."
A once again closed the file and leaned back.
The plan was perfect. Years of sacrifice boiled into one moment.
And yet… thunder still roared outside.
Somewhere, deep down, he wondered if the storm disagreed.
---
After entering Konoha and being welcomed warmly by the high-ranking shinobi and officials, the envoy from the Hidden Cloud was escorted to one of the largest resting quarters in the village, specially prepared for them.
Shinudarou, the mission leader, had already completed the surface-level diplomatic formalities with Konoha's elders and Sarutobi Hiruzen himself, all with practiced smiles and perfectly measured words. He played the part of a tired but hopeful representative, even going as far as to politely decline dinner, citing exhaustion from the long journey. Once they were alone, the masks slipped off — literally.
Within the closed chamber, after double-checking the seals placed on the walls and confirming no surveillance existed, one of the jonin in their unit activated a silent signal jutsu. Everyone stilled. A tense few seconds passed before the ninja opened his eyes and gave a nod. The room collectively exhaled.
One by one, the "diplomats" began to peel the thin layer of special skin from their faces — realistic human masks made from flesh and chakra-reactive gel. Shinudarou dropped his own onto the table. His real face, slick with sweat, returned to view. It felt like his skin could finally breathe again.
"I swear these things feel like a toad is sitting on my face," Julian muttered, tossing her mask with clear disgust.
"Shut up. No one asked for a review." Another shinobi scoffed. "Captain, when do we start?"
Shinudarou didn't respond immediately. Instead, he glanced around the room, letting the faces of his team remind him of everything they'd risked to get this far. Twenty elite jonin — the most skilled in assassination, sealing, sensory suppression, and tracking — had walked here from their homeland, suppressing their chakra to the point of near-invisibility.
As they'd crossed into Fire Country, they sealed the bulk of their energy, disguised themselves flawlessly, and took on the names and identities of Cloud's diplomatic elders. Every movement had been calculated, every pause rehearsed. No one was allowed to itch a cheek, let alone remove the masks until now. Even the youngest among them had held their nerves.
They'd made it.
But their mission wasn't over.
Shinudarou stepped forward, his voice low but clear.
"We succeeded in entering, but don't relax yet. The easy part is over."
He glanced down at the scroll on the desk — a heavily coded document containing the three primary targets and the instructions provided by their homeland's intelligence unit.
The Hyūga heirs — one from the main house, and one from the branch family, both of whom had eyes free from the cursed seal. A miracle and an opportunity. Those eyes would be harvested and replicated. They wouldn't just empower Cloud's next generation — they'd weaken Konoha's strongest surveillance bloodline.
Then, there was the real threat.
The Nine-Tails jinchūriki.
Young. Isolated. But disturbingly powerful. Their own records couldn't explain how a child not even ten years old had been able to suppress and train with a beast so violent that not even his predecessors could handle it. A boy raised in darkness, treated as a weapon by Konoha, possibly broken... but also dangerous. Especially now.
Their spy — presumed dead but surprisingly re-emerged — had given them precise info two months ago: the boy's chakra fluctuations, training patterns, interaction radius, and, most importantly, emotional tethers.
A cat. A woman. A man.
All three were listed in the scrolls.
Shinudarou's eyes narrowed.
The plan was still in motion. First, locate the targets physically. Confirm the accuracy of their spy's reports. The Hyūga children's security, daily paths, and likely blind spots. The jinchūriki's known habits, his moments of solitude, his distance from major defense formations.
Then, when timing matched the emotional distraction — the village-wide celebration for the child of fourth hokage's birthday — they'd act.
The Hyūga team would move first: quick grab-and-run, no killing if possible. Speed and stealth. Once they were clear, they'd join the second team, who'd already surrounded the jinchūriki's safe zones.
His cat would be taken out first — either killed or used as bait. If killing him proved impossible, then emotional destruction would follow. Show him the corpse. Feed him an illusion. Twist his rage inward and turn him into a monster against his own people.
Let him destroy himself.
Konoha would do the rest.
Even if he survived... the village wouldn't want him anymore.
Shinudarou rolled his shoulders back, letting out a tired breath. All of this — every bitter step — had been designed not only to win, but to shake Konoha's balance. If done right, they wouldn't just leave with Byakugan and silence a jinchūriki... they would destroy three weapons of the Leaf in one sweep.
He turned toward the room again.
"Rest tonight," he ordered. "Don't touch your chakra. Don't move around the village. Tomorrow we verify the targets. Day after, the storm begins."
Outside, in the still and silent air of Konoha's night, no one noticed the wind changing.
But the clouds were already gathering.
And they would strike.
---