The Naka Shrine was quiet at midnight.
No moon. No wind. Only the low hum of the village's perimeter chakra seals buzzing faintly in the distance. The temple grounds, once a sacred place for the Uchiha clan, had become a forgotten relic in a village obsessed with war.
Arashi stood at the edge of the steps, hands resting lightly in his sleeves. He wore no armor, no symbol, no clan crest—just black shinobi gear and a long gray scarf to blur his profile.
If this was a trap, he was ready to spring it.
A figure appeared near the shrine's entrance. Cloaked. Hooded. No mask.
Arashi didn't move. "You're late."
"You came early," the figure replied, voice calm but sharp. A man's voice. Measured. Trained.
Arashi couldn't see his face clearly. The darkness was deliberate.
"You left a Root tag on the scroll," Arashi said. "Not very subtle."
"Subtlety isn't always needed when the target is already watching us."
Arashi stepped closer, slowly. "So this is recruitment?"
"It's an offer," the man said. "Not from Root. Not officially. Not yet."
Arashi raised an eyebrow. "So unofficial Root?"
"No. A separate network. Selective. We watch those the village cannot control—but may still need."
Arashi felt his jaw tighten. "That sounds familiar."
The man ignored the jab.
"You're not loyal to the current system," he said. "That's good. The system is rotting. People like you are wasted on it."
"Let me guess," Arashi replied. "You work for Danzo."
"I answer to the village," the man said carefully. "Like you will, eventually."
That confirmed it. Danzo was extending a hand—but not directly. This wasn't recruitment. It was a test.
The man continued, "Your father is compromised. He still believes ideals matter more than results. That will kill him."
"Ideals are why we're not all monsters," Arashi replied.
"Spoken like someone who hasn't had to make the hard choice yet."
Arashi's eyes narrowed. "I've made plenty."
A pause. The figure studied him for a moment. Then reached into his cloak and tossed something toward him.
A scroll. Small. Sealed with wax.
"Open it when you get home. If you're interested, memorize the contents and burn it. If not… forget this meeting."
Arashi caught the scroll without breaking eye contact.
"One question," he said.
The man waited.
"Did you help frame my father?"
A silence stretched between them.
"We don't need to frame him," the man said. "The village is already doing it to him on its own. All we did… was step aside."
Then he vanished.
Not shunshin. No chakra flicker. Just… gone.
Arashi exhaled through his nose, slowly. His hand clenched around the scroll.
That was how Root operated.
Never push. Just place the idea. Let you convince yourself.
He tucked the scroll away and turned back toward the village, slipping into the rooftops like a shadow. His mind moved faster than his feet.
They were watching. That meant he had value. And if he had value, they wouldn't move against him unless he made a mistake.
But that also meant Kakashi and Sakumo were targets—not in body, yet, but in reputation. A slow dismantling. The kind that destroyed men from the inside out.
By the time he returned to the Hatake compound, the first hints of dawn were peeking over the rooftops.
He slipped into his room and closed the blinds, then lit a small flame in a brass bowl and sat cross-legged in front of it. The scroll unrolled easily.
One name.
Three faces.
A map.
The name was of a Leaf chūnin officer suspected of selling intelligence during the Second War. No proof. No arrest. Just rumors. The faces were people he'd worked with—two dead, one missing.
The map marked a warehouse on the outskirts of the civilian district. Abandoned. Supposedly.
A test.
They wanted to see what he'd do.
He stared at the scroll for a long moment. Then he fed it to the fire and watched the paper curl into ash.
If Danzo wanted to play games, so be it. But he'd play them on his own terms.
He entered the mental realm.
Time slowed.
He appeared on a stone plateau surrounded by endless cliffs. Wind howled around him, and far in the distance, thunder rolled across a red sky.
He raised a hand.
Across from him, the mental projection of Jiraiya appeared—taller, grinning, relaxed.
"You again, huh?" the Sannin said.
"I need to work on counters for mid-range pressure styles."
"Using me for Sage movement again?"
"Yes."
"Fine. But this time, I'm not holding back."
The simulation rushed him.
Arashi moved low, sidestepping the heel kick and deflecting a wind bullet with his forearm. He shifted his weight perfectly, angling toward Jiraiya's blind spot, but the clone dissolved into mist before he could strike.
The real Jiraiya appeared behind him, already mid-technique.
The fight went on for what felt like two days.
He trained through fatigue, pain, death simulations. Not to copy Jiraiya's flashy moves—but to learn how to manage aggressive chakra styles. How to stay on his feet when his own reserves were pushed. How to win without killing. How to outlast.
When he left the mental realm, only an hour had passed.
He stood and strapped on his gear.
No orders. No team. Just a lead and a decision.
By nightfall, he reached the warehouse.
It looked abandoned. Windows broken. Roof sagging. No chakra signatures on the surface.
But the air was wrong.
Too still.
He circled around the back and found a rusted vent cover. Slid it open. Dropped inside.
The interior smelled of oil and ash. Stacks of crates, half-covered in moldy tarps, lined the walls. Most were empty. But not all.
One crate had scrolls sealed with foreign chakra—Suna's style. Another had markings that didn't belong in Konoha at all. Black ink shaped in square patterns.
Arashi opened one slowly.
Inside: tags. Explosives. Chakra-surge talismans. High grade.
He heard a step behind him.
He turned.
A man stood in the shadows. Older. Face pale, with the haunted look of someone who hadn't slept properly in years. His vest bore no insignia.
But Arashi recognized him.
From the scroll.
"Did Danzo send you?" the man asked.
"No."
The man relaxed, slightly. "Then you're early."
"I'm not here for you," Arashi said.
The man's face twisted.
"Then you're here to clean me up. Just like they did with the others."
"I'm here for answers."
The man snorted. "Answers don't mean much to dead men."
"I'm not here to kill you," Arashi said. "But I will if you lie."
That gave the man pause.
"…Konoha turned its back on us," he muttered. "During the Wind border missions, they sent us in under-equipped. Expected us to die. The survivors? We were told to keep quiet or be court-martialed."
"So you sold intel?"
"I survived."
Arashi stared at him.
No lies.
No excuses.
Just a man trying to crawl out of hell by dragging others down with him.
He could arrest him. Turn him in. Or kill him here and now.
Instead, he stepped back.
"Leave the village," Arashi said. "Tonight. Don't come back."
The man blinked.
"You're letting me go?"
"I'm letting a broken man go," Arashi said. "The next time, I'll deal with a traitor."
He turned and vanished.
No need to report back. Danzo would know.
And now… he'd be watched even more closely.
Let them watch.
Let them try.
He would protect his family.
And burn Root from the inside.
To be continued.