Chapter One: Between Loyalty and Smoke
The moon hung low above the Hidden Leaf Village, veiled behind restless clouds. Konoha was still young — its streets bore the silence of fresh order, and its shadows whispered of old grudges. In the outer quarter, not far from the Uchiha district, a figure slipped between rooftops like a breath of wind.
Akari Kurokaze moved without sound, her steps measured, her presence thin as the mist that rolled over the treetops. Her orders had been clear: observe, report, do not engage. Tobirama Senju himself had spoken them, his voice as firm as stone, laced with a warning that didn't need to be spoken aloud.
The Uchihas were restless.
She crouched in the limbs of an ancient tree overlooking a shrine seldom visited at night. Beneath her, four figures stood in a crescent of low conversation, their words absorbed by the thick walls of tradition and suspicion.
"Hashirama's peace is built on Senju rules," one of them said. "And we are expected to kneel."
Akari narrowed her eyes, not in judgment, but calculation. Every sentence was a thread in the web Tobirama feared. Her hand hovered near the hilt of her blade — not to draw, but to remember it was there. A habit born of too many uncertain nights.
Then, something shifted. One of them — younger, quieter, maybe fifteen — turned suddenly. His eyes scanned the dark, sharp and precise. Sharingan shimmered faintly. He looked directly toward her perch.
And then… he looked away.
Akari didn't move. A silent agreement had been struck in that brief glance — one born not of alliance, but of understanding. He saw her. He chose not to act.
Back in the inner village, the stone office of the Second Hokage held little warmth.
"They're talking," Akari said, standing straight despite the weight in her limbs. "But not yet moving."
Tobirama watched her from behind his desk, hands steepled.
"Keep watching."
She hesitated only a second. "Do you plan to act before they do?"
"I plan to be ready when they do," he replied.
She left without another word.
Outside, the night wrapped around her like an old cloak. She walked with the silence of someone used to being invisible. The leaves rustled as the wind passed through them, never choosing sides — only carrying what the trees let go.
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