The moon hung low over Konoha, casting pale silver light across tiled rooftops and quiet streets. Most of the village had already settled in for the night — lanterns dimmed, doors shut, the faint sounds of laughter or lullabies floating on the evening breeze.
But not all were resting.
Takeo Gojo tightened the wrappings on his flak jacket and slipped out the door with a quiet finality, sparing only a brief glance toward the room where his son slept.
Satoru was snoring faintly.
Still too loud for a shinobi, he thought. But give it time.
He turned and stepped into the darkness.
There was no mission scroll tucked into his sleeve. No weapons beyond the basic tools every jonin carried by instinct. What he carried tonight was heavier than steel — the weight of a decision he'd been delaying ever since his son first climbed that damn tree.
The streets of Konoha felt colder at night. Emptier.
Fitting, Takeo thought grimly, since I'm about to do something I swore I never would.
He reached the base of the Hokage's Tower in silence. Two ANBU stationed at the entrance barely spared him a glance — he was a jonin, and the Hokage's schedule for the evening was clear.
The request had been granted.
A private audience.
Takeo ascended the stairs slowly, deliberately. Each step echoed faintly through the wide, empty halls of the tower. He paused just before the final landing, exhaled through his nose, and let his face harden.
He would speak not as a father… but as a soldier of the Leaf.
Because what he was about to do felt far too much like a betrayal.
Takeo walked alone beneath the silver gleam of the Konoha moon, the village silent save for the occasional whisper of wind through the leaves. The streets felt colder at night, lonelier — or perhaps it was the weight of his thoughts that chilled him.
He had sent word ahead. As a jōnin, his request for an audience with the Hokage had been accepted without delay. The tower loomed ahead, a beacon of the village's light.
But Takeo knew the truth: where there is light, darkness gathers close behind.
He had walked both paths. Years ago, Anbu Root division had approached him with an offer — whispered promises of strength, loyalty, and purpose beneath the surface of Konoha. He had refused. He had no interest in shadows.
But now?
Now he feared what those same shadows might do to his son.
Satoru was too loud, too bright, too obvious. A spark that refused to dim. One day, that spark would draw the attention of the wrong eyes.
Takeo had no illusions — the boy was a genius. It wasn't pride; it was fact. He saw it in the way Satoru adapted to chakra control, in how fast he moved from failure to mastery. And worse… Satoru was the kind of idiot who would shout his talents from the rooftops with a grin on his face.
The kind of idiot that gets snatched up. Used. Broken.
Takeo clenched his fist as he stepped into the warm interior of the Hokage's tower. He wasn't here just to brag. He wasn't here to gain favor. He was here to offer something — no, someone.
His son.
Not to be sold off to the darkness like Root had once tried with him, but to be seen by the light. To be protected. Watched. Guided.
If he couldn't stop his son from shining, then he'd make damn sure that shine was under the Hokage's gaze.
Because Satoru might have been a little fool… but he was his fool.
And Takeo Gojo would never let the shadows have him.
The interior of the Hokage's Tower was quiet at that hour of the night, lit only by the warm glow of lanterns along the wooden walls. The faint aroma of fresh tea drifted through the air as Hiruzen Sarutobi, the Third Hokage, stood by the open window, his gaze calm as it swept over the sleeping village.
When three firm knocks echoed through the room, he didn't turn.
"Enter, Takeo."
His deep, composed voice seemed to absorb the tension from the hallway. Takeo stepped inside, posture rigid, eyes serious.
Hiruzen finally turned to study the man he'd known for years.
"For you to come here this late, I assumed this wasn't a routine report."
Takeo gave a sharp nod but didn't speak at first. The Hokage gestured toward the chair in front of his desk, and Takeo sat down with the same stiffness he brought into battle.
Before Takeo could speak, Hiruzen lifted a small, freshly delivered scroll — Iruka's latest report.
"Interestingly enough, this arrived just earlier today," the Hokage said, raising an eyebrow. "From Iruka Umino. A summary of the first few days of the new academy class."
Takeo blinked in surprise.
"Your son's name appears right near the top."
Hiruzen opened the scroll and read aloud with a faint, amused smile:
'Satoru Gojo demonstrates notable talent for a first-year. He quickly grasped the fundamentals of shurikenjutsu and asks sharp questions. However, he consistently ignores help requests from male classmates, offering assistance only to the girls — especially Sakura Haruno, Ino Yamanaka, and Hinata Hyuga. This is creating… a certain aura around him. Charisma? Chaos? Not sure yet.'
The Hokage let out a quiet chuckle.
"It's not every day a clanless civilian draws the attention of both the Hyuga heir and the Yamanaka's daughter before even mastering the Clone Technique."
Takeo sighed, exhausted. "He's an idiot, Lord Hokage."
"And yet, a talented idiot," Sarutobi replied, already shifting to a more serious tone. "You've been training him yourself?"
"Yes. That's why I'm here." Takeo leaned forward, eyes narrowing.
"He is more than this and he doesn't know how to hide his brilliance. He doesn't know what that means. But I do. And so do you."
The Hokage remained quiet for a moment, lighting his pipe as the smoke curled lazily into the room.
"You're afraid the interest will come from outside… or from within?"
Takeo said nothing.
But the intention hung silently between them like an unspoken threat.
Sarutobi understood.
"And what exactly do you want from me, Takeo?"
Takeo paused. The words weren't easy to say. He didn't want his son to be a tool. But he also knew he couldn't protect the boy forever — not from the village's darker instincts.
"I want him to be seen. Watched. By you. Not by the shadows. If he shines — and he will — then let it be under the sun, not buried underground."
The Third Hokage exhaled slowly through his pipe.
"You're trying to sell your son to the light before the dark can buy him?"
Takeo offered a wry, humorless smile. "If that's what it takes... yes."
Hiruzen studied him. A jōnin. A war veteran. But more than that — a father. He then thought back to Iruka's report: a boy who was arrogant, playful, but undeniably sharp. The boy who held hands with clan heiresses before learning proper kunai grip.
It might be too early to make any claims.
But Hiruzen's instincts rarely lied.
Satoru Gojo was not ordinary. And that would attract danger, whether he wanted it or not.
"Leave him with me, Takeo," Hiruzen finally said.
"I'll keep him under my eye."
Takeo nodded once.
And that night, as he stepped out of the tower into the quiet streets of Konoha, he felt — for the first time in years — a little more at ease.
But no less afraid.
As the door closed softly behind Takeo, the Hokage remained still, staring into the drifting smoke of his pipe.
He didn't move for a long moment.
Was Takeo overreacting?
The man had always been sharp, cautious — almost too cautious. Sarutobi trusted him, yes, but even good men were capable of seeing ghosts where none existed.
Still…
He turned his gaze back to the scroll.
Satoru Gojo.
A boy with no prestigious bloodline, no kekkei genkai, and yet already drawing the gaze of others — including two powerful clans. Iruka's report was lighthearted on the surface, but between the lines, there was tension. Movement. The kind of subtle ripples that often led to waves.
Sarutobi's fingers drummed slowly against the wood of his desk.
"Paranoia…" he muttered to himself.
"Or foresight?"
He thought again of the Root, of Danzo's endless hunger for weapons. Takeo had walked away from that darkness once — not everyone had the strength to do so.
And perhaps… that was what frightened him most.
Not Satoru's future.
But his fate.
The boy was loud. Flashy. Unaware of the sharp blades that curiosity could draw.
Hiruzen took another drag from his pipe, then exhaled deliberately, letting the smoke swirl and dissolve.
Eventually, he stood and moved toward the window again, gazing down at the darkened village.
"He may yet be nothing more than an eccentric brat," he said to the night.
"But if he's something more…"
The old man turned away from the window and returned to his desk. He pulled out a second scroll — this one sealed with red wax, a mark used only for confidential development candidates.
He didn't write anything yet. Only looked at the blank parchment for a while.
Then, almost as an afterthought, he murmured:
"When the time comes, Takeo… I'll send someone to test the boy."
He sealed the scroll — still blank — and tucked it into a drawer.
"If he passes," Sarutobi said quietly.
"I'll bring him under my direct command."
And with that, the Hokage snuffed out his pipe, blew out the lantern, and let the night reclaim his office.