I stared up at the ceiling, my eyes tracing the wooden beams in the dim glow of the early morning. The faintest sliver of dawn peeked through the cracks in the shoji doors, but sleep had eluded me the entire night. My mind was a battlefield of thoughts, each more restless than the last. The room was silent, save for the occasional rustling of fabric as the others shifted in their beds, lost in their own dreams or nightmares. But I was awake.
Wide awake.
With a quiet breath, I expanded my chakra field, feeling the subtle pulse of energy spread throughout the room. A precaution. I wasn't expecting an attack, but habits ingrained from years of ANBU training weren't so easily shaken. If anything happened, I would know.
But nothing did.
Nothing except the war raging in my own head.
It had barely been two days since we arrived in the Land of Iron, and yet the world outside was already shifting like sand in the wind. Political machinations moved like unseen hands on a shogi board—Kumogakure had already begun making their moves, invading one of Konoha's border stations, and Kirigakure, of all places, was seeking an alliance with Konoha.
A bitter laugh almost escaped my lips at the absurdity of it all.
'It would be fun to watch if it was a story I was ready or if I wasn't the one responsible for all of this.
I sighed, rubbing my eyes.
'No matter what I do, there's no avoiding the Third Shinobi War.'
The war was coming, whether I liked it or not. And all I could do was be ready.
====
The hall was, for lack of a better word, dull.
No grand banners displaying the might of each hidden village. No extravagant decorations meant to impress or intimidate. No unnecessary ornamentation to soften the severity of the meeting. It was simple—just a spacious, dimly lit chamber supported by thick wooden pillars, their bases embedded in the polished stone floor.
The only notable feature was the long, rectangular table at the centre of the room, its dark surface smooth and pristine, waiting to host the discussions that could shape the shinobi world's future.
It was a stark contrast to the tense, imposing figures that would soon gather here.
I let my gaze drift over the walls, instinctively searching for any hidden dangers, traps, or weaknesses. The walls were reinforced, but that was expected. What wasn't expected was the subtle presence of fuinjutsu.
My eyes narrowed slightly, my senses brushing against the delicate but powerful chakra threads woven into the structure itself.
'Seals? Here?'
That was... surprising. Samurai were known for their unmatched kenjutsu, their unwavering discipline, their strict adherence to a code. But sealing techniques? That was typically the domain of shinobi.
And yet, the evidence was right in front of me, woven into the very fabric of this place. The seals weren't complex, but they were strong—probably designed for reinforcement, chakra suppression, or even defensive countermeasures in case of conflict.
I almost wanted to study them further, but now wasn't the time.
We were the first to arrive.
'Good.'
That meant I could observe.
Taking my position at Hiruzen's side, I stood with my hands lightly clasped behind my back, adopting the rigid but poised stance of an ANBU operative on standby. My expression remained impassive, but my senses sharpened as I mapped out every detail of the room—every possible exit, every potential blind spot, every factor that could shift the balance of power in this meeting.
Silence hung in the air, the only sounds being the distant muffled murmurs of attendants moving through the fortress. Time passed slowly, and then—
Footsteps. Heavy ones.
The doors at the far end of the chamber were pushed open with a low creak, and the first of the guests arrived.
The first to enter were the representatives of Kumogakure and Iwagakure, walking side by side which was surprising.
Leading them was A, the Third Raikage. The man was a mountain of muscle, each step radiating raw power and confidence. This was the first time I was laying my eyes on him or any of the other Kages besides Hiruzen and Hiroshi, and the anime did not do him justice.
His presence alone demanded attention, a reminder that he wasn't just a political leader—he was a warrior first and foremost. His piercing eyes scanned the room briefly before he walked forward, every movement deliberate and strong.
Beside him, his son, Ay, was a younger reflection of that same strength, though less refined. His features were still youthful, but there was already a sharpness to his expression, a readiness for battle that never seemed to fade.
Following closely was another Kumo shinobi—a man named Daiki I remember reading about him in one of the information books of the village. He had short, coarse hair and a deep scar running from his forehead to his ear, cutting through his left eyebrow. His movements were sharp and controlled, but his stance was tense, like a predator ready to pounce at the first sign of danger.
As they took their seats, the air shifted again.
The next to enter was the Mizukage, Hiroshi, flanked by Hideki and Sayaka Terumi. I finally got her name from Minato.
Hiroshi moved with the quiet grace of a man used to navigating both political and literal minefields. His presence wasn't as outwardly intimidating as A's, but there was something dangerous about him. He carried himself with a calm, almost eerie confidence, the kind that came from someone who never let his true thoughts be known.
Then came the Kazekage.
Satetsu, the Third Kazekage, was a man of contradictions. He was silent, his lips barely moving as he gave curt nods to those present, but his mere presence filled the room like a looming storm, almost drowning. His dark eyes held an intense, calculating sharpness that reminded me of iron itself—unyielding, unbreakable, deadly.
Behind him stood Chiyo, a woman whose years of experience were evident in her sharp gaze and steady composure. Though she was only in her early fifties currently, her expression carried the weight of a thousand battles. Beside her was Jiro, a lean shinobi with sun-weathered skin, his expression unreadable but his posture wary.
Finally, the Tsuchikage entered.
Onoki of Both Scales was the shortest man in the room, yet one of the most dangerous. His perpetual scowl deepened as he floated inside, his expression one of mild irritation. But despite his ageing, there was no mistaking the sheer force of will behind those sharp, calculating eyes.
His entourage consisted of Akemi, a woman with short black hair and a disciplined air about her, and Rento, a broader-built man whose demeanour was more relaxed but no less wary.
With all the Kages seated, the room felt... different.
The weight of the gathering settled over us like an unseen pressure, the sheer power concentrated in this one space enough to shake entire nations. Each leader carried the strength of their respective villages, not just in battle prowess but in influence, strategy, and experience.
And yet, beneath the forced neutrality of their expressions, I could feel the tension crackling in the air like an impending storm.
The seating arrangement was deliberate. Iwagakure was on the furthest left, followed by Kumogakure, then Kirigakure, then Sunagakure, and finally, Konohagakure on the far right.
It was a carefully structured battlefield of politics.
Then, the final figure entered.
Tadashi, the mediator, strode into the room with the ease of a man who had done this a hundred times before. He wasn't a shinobi, but his presence carried weight. He had the unenviable task of ensuring this discussion remained civil, at least on the surface.
His voice carried through the chamber as he began the introductions, listing each Kage by name and title, followed by their accompanying shinobi. The formalities passed without much reaction—until he reached my name.
"Renjiro Uzumaki."
Silence.
For the briefest of moments, it was as if the air in the room had frozen solid.
Some reactions were subtle—just a flicker of the eyes, a barely perceptible tightening of the jaw. Others were more pronounced. The Kazekage's gaze lingered on me a fraction longer than necessary, as if reevaluating something he thought he understood. The Tsuchikage let out a quiet grunt, unreadable. Even the Mizukage's eyes narrowed slightly, the slightest shift in his composed mask.
I tilted my head slightly, suppressing the urge to smirk.
'Why are they reacting like this?'
'I'm sure they tried their best to find out everything about me before the summit.'
And yet, despite their efforts, I was still an anomaly. They had their information, their reports, their spies—but there were things no amount of intelligence gathering could truly prepare them for. And that uncertainty was dangerous.
Tadashi cleared his throat, breaking the silence.
"Why don't we begin?"
And just like that, the true battle began.
=====
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