A New Path

The night was silent, the kind of silence that swallowed even the rustling leaves in the Hidden Leaf Village. But within the darkness, in the places where the shadows ran deeper than black, the ANBU moved. They were phantoms, slithering through the rooftops and alleyways, unnoticed by the unsuspecting civilians still sleeping soundly in their homes.

The orders had been clear—remove the Sound shinobi, eliminate them quietly, subtly, without a trace. The Third Hokage had no illusions about the upcoming invasion. Orochimaru was cunning, calculating, and patient. He had built the Sound Village from nothing, but even with all his resources, the operation he was planning was too vast to accomplish alone. Another village was involved, but for now, their immediate focus was reducing Orochimaru’s pawns before the battle even began.

A pair of ANBU operatives descended into an abandoned building near the exam grounds, their masks—one shaped like a hawk, the other a weasel—glinting briefly under the moonlight before the darkness swallowed them whole. The Sound shinobi inside never stood a chance. The first was sitting at a table, casually sharpening a kunai, completely unaware of the approaching figures. The second was by the window, keeping watch but too relaxed, too unaware.

A hand clamped over the first shinobi’s mouth just as a tanto slid across his throat, severing flesh and silencing his breath before he could even struggle. Blood dripped soundlessly onto the wooden floor, his body slumping over like a discarded doll. The second shinobi turned at the slight movement, eyes widening just before Weasel’s kunai embedded itself into his throat. He gurgled, clawing at his neck, his fingers trembling as the life drained from his body. The two ANBU operatives exchanged silent nods before vanishing once more, melting into the walls like specters of death.

This was the pattern repeating across the village.

One by one, the Sound shinobi and kunoichi disappeared, some dragged into the shadows, others falling victim to swift, silent blades. Their bodies would not be found until morning if they were found at all. Some were taken alive and dragged to the Torture and Interrogation Unit, where Ibiki Morino awaited with his cold, merciless efficiency. Others were delivered to the hidden labs of Konoha’s darker sectors, where they would be experimented on, their bodies studied to see just what else Orochimaru had done to them.

For the ANBU, this was nothing new. Assassinations, political maneuvering—this was the true face of the Hidden Leaf Village, the side of it that the civilians and young genin would never see. Konoha had survived countless wars, not by its strength alone, but by ensuring that its enemies never had the chance to strike first.

Atop the Hokage Tower, Hiruzen Sarutobi stood with his hands folded behind his back, watching the village below. His aging features were cast in deep lines, the weight of his decision settling upon his shoulders like a lead cloak. He did not enjoy ordering assassinations. Once, in his younger days, he had believed in peace, in diplomacy, in finding solutions without bloodshed.

But peace in the shinobi world was an illusion.

He exhaled slowly, watching as one by one, tiny flickers of chakra signatures disappeared from his sensory range. A sign that the ANBU were succeeding.

"They were only pawns," a voice murmured beside him. Danzo Shimura stood there, his expression unreadable beneath the shadows of the night. "Expendable, disposable. This is what must be done to ensure the village’s survival."

Hiruzen did not look at Danzo. He did not need to. He knew that the man beside him saw this as an opportunity, as justification for his own ideals. But Hiruzen had made this choice not out of cold pragmatism, but necessity.

"If we do nothing, the invasion will bring disaster to our people," the Third Hokage finally spoke, his voice calm but firm. "This is not about power, Danzo. It’s about protecting the innocent before war can claim them."

Danzo merely tilted his head, his single visible eye gleaming in the darkness. "And yet, you do exactly what I have always preached."

Hiruzen sighed. "Do not mistake necessity for alignment."

Danzo chuckled, the sound as dry as dead leaves. "Call it what you will, Hiruzen. The end result remains the same."

Hiruzen did not respond. He merely watched as another flicker of chakra vanished. The night continued, and the shadows swallowed more of Orochimaru’s forces.

While the ANBU purged the village of Sound infiltrators, other operatives were tasked with gathering intelligence on the Sand’s involvement. If Suna was truly working alongside Orochimaru, then they needed to be prepared for the full weight of another Hidden Village attacking them.

Deep within one of Konoha’s intelligence outposts, a masked operative laid out several scrolls before a group of high-ranking officials.

"Reports indicate that Sunagakure’s jinchūriki, Gaara, is not here solely for the Chunin Exams," the operative stated, his voice even. "Multiple sources confirm that his mental instability is more severe than initially believed. His control over Shukaku is tenuous at best. It is highly unusual that the Kazekage would send an unstable jinchūriki to an exam meant for diplomacy."

"Which means he’s not here for the exam at all," another official muttered darkly. "He’s a weapon. A weapon Suna intends to unleash during the invasion."

The room fell silent. They all knew what this meant. A jinchūriki was a village’s trump card, a force of destruction meant to be wielded only in the direst of circumstances. If Suna was willing to use Gaara in an attack, then they had already made their choice—there was no room for doubt.

The Third Hokage, having now arrived at the briefing, exhaled heavily. "We cannot act against the Sand yet. If we expose our suspicions, they may attack sooner than planned."

"What do you propose?" one of the officials asked.

"Continue reducing Orochimaru’s forces," Hiruzen said. "But prepare our defenses. If Gaara does lose control… we must have contingencies in place to contain the damage."

The weight of his words settled upon the room like a storm cloud. The invasion had not yet begun, but the Hidden Leaf was already preparing for war.

Across the village, the silent purge continued. A Sound kunoichi barely had time to reach for her weapon before an ANBU’s blade found the gap between her ribs. Another shinobi attempted to flee, only for a figure in a wolf mask to slice his throat before he could utter a sound.

By dawn, the number of Sound shinobi in the village had dwindled significantly. Orochimaru’s forces had been cut down in the dark, the invasion crippled before it could begin.

But war was still coming.

And when it did, the Hidden Leaf would be ready.

The early morning sun bathed the Hidden Leaf Village in hues of gold and amber, its warmth chasing away the cold remnants of the night. But beneath the peaceful sky, an undercurrent of tension simmered beneath the surface. Today was the final round of the Chunin Exams—an event that, on the surface, was meant to be a celebration of youthful talent and strength. But for those who truly understood the world of shinobi, it was far more than that.

The Chunin Exams were not just a test; they were a battlefield for politics, a stage for power plays between nations, and a carefully curated display of might meant to serve as both a deterrent and an opportunity. For many, the battles in the arena were secondary. The true game of war was played in the stands, in the whispered conversations between lords, daimyos, and high-ranking officials.

As the village streets swelled with crowds of excited civilians and foreign dignitaries, a different kind of procession entered through the great gates of Konoha—one that commanded immediate attention.

They arrived in grand entourages, each escorted by guards clad in armor polished to perfection, adorned with the insignias of their respective nations. Their carriages, inlaid with gold and silk drapes, moved through the streets with the kind of grace that only wealth and power could afford.

At the forefront was the Feudal Lord of the Land of Fire, his presence an unspoken reminder that, despite Konoha’s strength, it was ultimately under the rule of the Fire Daimyo. Clad in opulent robes embroidered with golden flames, he exuded the effortless arrogance of a man who had never once feared for his life. He was flanked by his trusted advisors, men who spoke in hushed tones about trade agreements, military funding, and shinobi deployment—all decisions made far away from the battlefield, yet ones that shaped its very outcome.

Behind him followed the emissaries from the Land of Wind, their expressions carefully guarded. The Wind Daimyo’s representative had been sent in place of the daimyo himself, a sign of wavering trust in Sunagakure’s leadership after the decline of their economy. There was tension in their every movement, as if they knew something that the Leaf had yet to uncover. And perhaps they did.

Other feudal lords followed—lesser, but still influential—each one eyeing the Leaf Village with the scrutiny of a merchant evaluating his wares. To them, Konoha was not just a military power; it was an investment, a tool for maintaining control over their lands, for securing their personal ambitions.

These men held no loyalty to the shinobi under their employ. Their alliances were dictated by profit, by power, and by the ever-shifting tides of war. If another village could offer better protection, if the Leaf showed even a moment of weakness, then they would not hesitate to withdraw their favor.

High above, standing on the grand balcony of the Hokage Tower, Hiruzen Sarutobi watched their arrival with the weight of years pressing upon his shoulders. His aged eyes, sharp as ever, studied each noble and official as they passed through the gates. This was the part of his duty that exhausted him more than battle—dealing with the men who dictated war without ever bleeding for it.

As the carriages came to a halt before the Hokage Tower, Hiruzen descended the steps, flanked by two ANBU operatives and a small retinue of Leaf officials. He moved with practiced ease, his robes of office flowing behind him, the ceremonial headdress marking his authority. Despite his grandfatherly appearance, there was no mistaking the power he still held.

He greeted them with a deep bow, a show of respect dictated by protocol. "Welcome to the Hidden Leaf Village," he said, his voice carrying the weight of his years and authority. "It is an honor to host you all for this prestigious event."

The Feudal Lord of Fire gave a practiced smile, but his eyes held the gleam of a man who saw a game unfolding before him. "Hokage-dono, it is always a pleasure to witness the strength of Konoha’s next generation. I trust that today’s battles will be as thrilling as ever."

Hiruzen nodded, though he did not miss the veiled undertone in the daimyo’s words. Strength—always strength. That was what these men came to see. They did not care for the children who would spill their blood in the arena below. They cared only for the spectacle, for the proof that their investments in the Hidden Leaf were well placed.

One of the Wind Daimyo’s emissaries stepped forward, his face impassive. "The Kazekage sends his regards. He looks forward to witnessing the abilities of both Konoha and Suna’s finest shinobi."

A meaningless formality. Hiruzen met the man’s gaze, searching for any sign of deceit, but the emissary was well-trained. The Kazekage had yet to arrive—unsurprising, considering what Hiruzen already suspected. Orochimaru was planning something, and the Kazekage’s absence only solidified his concerns.

Nearby, Danzo Shimura stood in silence, watching the interactions unfold with cold calculation. Unlike Hiruzen, Danzo saw these men not as leaders, but as obstacles. The Fire Daimyo, for all his influence, was a civilian. He had no place dictating shinobi affairs, and yet here he was, playing king over warriors who had bled for a country he barely understood.

Danzo’s gaze flickered toward the Wind emissaries. The Land of Wind was weak and fractured. Their daimyo had slashed Sunagakure’s funding, rendering their military efforts pitiful compared to Konoha’s. Perhaps that was why they had aligned with Orochimaru. Desperation made for dangerous allies.

This was the shinobi world—where power was dictated not just by skill, but by the whims of those who never touched a battlefield.

To the common people, the Hidden Villages were symbols of strength, of protection. But in reality, they were pawns, weapons wielded by the lords and daimyos who decided where and when war would be waged. Shinobi did not fight for themselves. They fought for the ambitions of men in silk robes, for contracts signed in ink and sealed with blood.

Hiruzen understood this truth, but he had long since accepted that it could not be changed. Not yet.

And so, he played the game.

"As always, the Leaf Village is honored to host such distinguished guests," Hiruzen said with a polite smile. "I assure you, today’s matches will not disappoint."

Lies, half-truths, and formalities. This was the language of diplomacy, of politics. And for now, it would have to be enough.

But as the nobles settled into their seats, waiting for the spectacle to begin, the Hokage could not shake the heavy weight in his chest.

The invasion was coming.

And before the day was over, the balance of power in the shinobi world would begin to shift.

The morning air was crisp, the scent of dewdrops still lingering in the wind as the sun cast golden rays over the Namikaze estate. Birds chirped from the treetops, and a soft breeze rustled the leaves in the courtyard. It was, by all means, a peaceful morning.

Inside, however, peace was the last thing happening.

Thudding footsteps, muffled curses, and the sound of furniture nearly toppling over echoed through the halls as Naruto and Harry rushed back and forth, scrambling to get ready for the final matches of the Chunin Exams.

"Where the hell is my forehead protector?!" Naruto's voice rang through the estate, hurried and exasperated.

"Forget your forehead protector—where’s my damn katana?!" Harry shot back, his movements sharp as he overturned cushions and checked under tables.

The two of them were a whirlwind of energy, running through the house in a flurry of misplaced belongings and last-minute panic. Naruto dashed into the kitchen, peering under the table as if his headband would magically appear there, while Harry was rifling through the weapons rack near the training room.

Amused eyes followed their every movement.

Hayato Namikaze sat comfortably near the engawa, sipping his tea with the same ease as if he weren’t watching the two boys sprint around like headless chickens. His ever-present cane rested against his lap, and a knowing smirk tugged at his lips.

"Naruto," Hayato called out, his tone carrying a teasing lilt. "If you're looking for your forehead protector, it’s on the counter next to the rice pot."

Naruto practically skidded into the kitchen, eyes locking onto the cloth tied neatly on the counter. He groaned loudly. "You’ve gotta be kidding me! I looked everywhere except here!"

Harry stormed into the room right after, still weaponless. "And my katana?"

Hayato didn’t move, simply inclining his head toward the far corner of the room. "Leaning against the doorframe. Right where you left it last night."

Harry followed his gaze and, sure enough, there was his katana—propped up exactly where he had placed it before heading to bed. He exhaled sharply, raking a hand through his unruly hair before shooting Hayato a glare. "You knew where it was this whole time, didn’t you?"

Hayato chuckled, setting his teacup down with a satisfied hum. "It’s always amusing to watch you both run around like panicked chickens in the morning. A little morning exercise never hurt anyone."

Naruto puffed out his cheeks. "You could’ve told us earlier, y’know!"

"I could have," Hayato admitted, eyes twinkling with mischief. "But I didn’t."

Harry groaned, muttering something under his breath before tightening the strap of his katana sheath around his waist. Naruto hastily tied his forehead protector, adjusting it to sit snugly against his brow.

Once the chaos had settled—at least somewhat—Naruto turned to his great-uncle with a more serious expression. "You’re coming to watch the matches, right?"

Hayato met Naruto’s gaze, and for a brief moment, the teasing glint in his eyes softened into something warmer. "Of course," he said gently. "I wouldn’t miss it for the world."

Naruto grinned. "Good! You better be there—I'm gonna kick Sasuke’s ass, and I need someone to watch me do it!"

Harry scoffed. "If you even make it that far."

"Oi, you wanna go right now?!"

Hayato let out a breathy chuckle as Naruto and Harry immediately fell into their usual banter, jabbing at each other with playful grins. But behind his composed demeanor, something heavy weighed in the back of his mind.

The invasion.

He was well aware of the danger that loomed just beyond the horizon. Orochimaru was lurking, the Sand was compromised, and Konoha was about to become a battlefield. He could feel it in his bones—the same feeling he had during the wars of his youth.

Would he truly be able to protect these boys?

Would they make it out unscathed?

His chest tightened at the thought. He had already lost Minato. He had already lost Kushina. The thought of losing Naruto or Harry, of seeing them torn from this world just as they had been—he wouldn’t survive it.

So he reached out, ruffling their hair with a tenderness that neither of them fully registered.

"Be careful," Hayato said quietly. "Both of you."

Naruto blinked up at him, confused by the sudden shift in tone. "Hah? What’s with the serious mood?"

Harry studied Hayato’s expression more closely, but the old man had already composed himself, replacing any hints of concern with his usual, lazy smirk.

"Just an old man’s worries," Hayato said, waving them off. "Now go on, you two. You don’t want to be late for your matches."

Naruto rolled his eyes. "Geez, you’re acting like we’re gonna die or something."

Hayato didn’t respond to that.

Instead, he watched as Naruto and Harry grabbed their final belongings before dashing out of the estate, their laughter and competitive jeers fading as they disappeared down the path.

Hayato remained seated for a moment longer, his hands tightening around the head of his cane. His thoughts drifted, unbidden, to Minato.

Minato, who had once rushed through this very estate just like Naruto.

Minato, who had been so full of life, so full of potential.

And Minato, whose flame had been extinguished far too soon.

A bittersweet ache filled his chest.

"Minato," Hayato murmured to the empty air. "They remind me so much of you."

But unlike before, this time, he would be there to protect them.

Even if it cost him everything.

The Uchiha district was silent.

It always was.

Sasuke had long since grown used to the quiet—the kind that stretched through the empty streets, untouched homes, and long shadows cast by the morning light. It was the same suffocating silence that had settled over the district after that night.

The night everything was taken from him.

He sat in his dimly lit living room, strapping his arm guards on with practiced ease. His thoughts drifted, as they often did, but today, they weren’t consumed by revenge. No, his mind was elsewhere.

On the invasion.

Kakashi had told them—warned them—on the last day of training. There would be an invasion during the final matches. The Sand, the Sound, and Orochimaru.

Sasuke scowled, tightening the strap on his wrist harder than necessary.

Would he be enough?

He had spent years chasing power, sharpening himself into something stronger, deadlier. But would it be enough to protect the people in his life now? Would it be enough to protect Team 7?

He let out a slow breath, forcing his shoulders to relax.

He didn’t just want to grow stronger for revenge anymore. That much had become clear to him.

Team 7… they were a part of him now. His team. His friends.

His family.

A foreign but strangely comforting warmth settled in his chest at the thought.

And then, just as quickly—

CRASH!

Sasuke’s left eye twitched as the paper sliding door to his house was slammed open with all the grace of a drunken ox. The peace he had been in was shattered instantly.

"Sasuke!"

"TCH, FOUND YOU!"

The whirlwind of chaos that was Naruto and Harry barreled inside like a pair of wild animals, completely unbothered by the fact that they had just invaded his house unannounced.

Naruto was grinning ear to ear, already bouncing on his feet like he had chugged an entire pot of coffee. "Man, I thought you’d still be asleep or brooding or something!"

Harry, more composed but equally as smug, leaned against the wall with his arms crossed. "Figures you’d be up already. You’re the kind of guy who probably wakes up at dawn to stare at the sky and monologue in his head."

Sasuke stared at them blankly. Deadpanned.

"…What the hell are you two doing in my house?"

Naruto huffed. "Well, excuse us for checking up on you!"

"Yeah," Harry added, smirking. "You were all ‘hn’ and ‘brood’ yesterday, so we figured we’d make sure you weren’t spiraling into some kind of Uchiha-induced existential crisis before the final matches."

Sasuke resisted the urge to rub his temples. These idiots.

"...I’m fine," he muttered, adjusting his wrist guards.

Naruto flopped down onto the floor like he owned the place, stretching his legs out. "Good! Because today’s the day I finally kick your ass in front of an entire crowd!"

Sasuke scoffed, smirking slightly. "You can try."

"Oh, I will!" Naruto grinned, then hesitated for a moment before scratching the back of his head. "…But, y’know. You’re gonna be okay, right?"

Sasuke blinked, his smirk faltering.

Harry, who had been watching him closely, sighed and walked over, nudging Sasuke lightly with his foot. "Yeah, I know Kakashi-sensei dumped some heavy news on us, but don’t go pulling a Sasuke and overthink yourself into oblivion."

Sasuke clicked his tongue. "I’m not overthinking."

"You totally are."

"Shut up."

Harry chuckled before his expression turned slightly more serious. "Look. We know about the invasion. We know things are gonna get messy. But Kakashi-sensei told us because he trusts us to handle ourselves."

Naruto nodded. "Yeah! And we’re not fighting alone, y’know. It’s not just you. It’s Team 7. We’ll have each other’s backs, no matter what happens."

Sasuke stared at them.

For a moment, he felt that warmth in his chest again, something light—something not suffocating.

He glanced away, exhaling through his nose before standing up. "Tch. Don’t get cocky. I’m not gonna let either of you outshine me today."

Naruto smirked. "Heh. Wouldn’t dream of it, bastard."

Harry rolled his eyes. "God, you two are impossible."

Sasuke, for the first time that morning, felt something settle in his chest. A strange assurance.

Maybe he didn’t have to carry everything alone.

Maybe, just maybe—having these two lights in his life wasn’t such a bad thing.

"…Let’s go," Sasuke muttered, turning towards the door. "We don’t want to be late."

Naruto and Harry followed without hesitation, stepping into the sunlight together.

For the first time in a long time, Sasuke wasn’t walking alone.

Sakura stared at her reflection in the small mirror on her desk, fingers tightening around the red fabric of her qipao dress as she adjusted it. Her mind, however, was far from the final matches of the Chunin Exams.

The invasion.

She exhaled slowly, pressing her hands against the desk.

Kakashi-sensei had told them on the last day of training. He wasn’t supposed to, but he had.

There would be an invasion.

The Sand. The Sound. Orochimaru.

Her grip tightened.

She had been in battles before. The Dagger’s Veil raid in the Land of Waves, the assassins sent after them, Zabuza and Haku—she had seen death, fought against it, survived it.

But this… this was different.

This was war.

And war wasn’t something you just fought in—it was something that devoured.

It consumed everything—people, homes, families. No one walked away unscathed. Even if you survived, something inside you never did.

Sakura swallowed, pressing a hand against her stomach to ease the knot forming there.

Her chest felt too tight. Her thoughts wouldn’t stop spinning.

Could she really handle this? Could she keep up? Would she be enough to protect her team? To protect Naruto, Sasuke, Harry, and Kakashi-sensei?

Her mind raced.

What if she wasn’t fast enough? What if her chakra control failed her? What if—

A knock at her door startled her.

"Sakura?"

Her eyes widened slightly.

That was… her mother’s voice.

Sakura quickly composed herself, schooling her expression into something neutral before turning to the door. "Yeah?"

The door opened, revealing both of her parents standing there.

Her mother—Mebuki Haruno—arms crossed, expression unreadable. Her father—Kizashi Haruno—hands in his pockets, offering a lopsided grin.

For a brief, stunned moment, Sakura just… stared at them.

Her parents weren’t particularly involved in her shinobi life. They weren’t against it, not really, but they had always been distant about it. They never trained her, never asked about missions. At most, they’d check if she was still alive after returning from assignments, and even then, they never said much.

So for them to be standing here, the morning of the final Chunin Exams, felt… strange.

Mebuki gave her a once-over, her sharp eyes scanning Sakura from head to toe. "You’re competing today."

Sakura blinked, nodding. "…Yeah."

Her father grinned, rubbing the back of his head. "Well, don’t embarrass yourself out there, kiddo. We raised you better than that."

Sakura blinked again.

Wait. Was that—support? From her parents?

Mebuki sighed, shaking her head before placing a firm hand on Sakura’s shoulder. "Just don’t lose, alright?"

It wasn’t much.

It wasn’t a grand declaration of pride or an outpouring of emotion.

But it was… something.

Sakura felt something in her chest lighten.

For once, she didn’t have to prove herself. For once, her parents were simply acknowledging that she was going to fight today.

A small, almost hesitant smile tugged at her lips.

"…I won’t," she said simply, bowing her head slightly.

Kizashi chuckled. "That’s my girl."

Mebuki huffed, giving a sharp nod before turning away. "Go. You’ll be late."

And just as quickly as they came, they were gone.

Sakura stood there for a moment, processing.

Then, slowly, she exhaled.

The weight on her shoulders didn’t feel so heavy anymore.

BANG!

Her door slammed open—violently, rudely, with the kind of force only Team 7 could possibly bring.

"SAKURA!"

Sakura’s entire soul left her body as Naruto, Harry, and Sasuke barged into her room like a pack of wild animals.

Naruto threw his hands up. "Finally! You take longer than Hinata! What the hell, Sakura?!"

Harry, looking far too amused, smirked. "Were you monologuing again?"

Sasuke, as deadpan as ever, merely glanced around before muttering, "Hn."

Sakura stared at them, expression blank. Then, very slowly, she lifted a hand and slammed her fist down on Naruto’s head.

"OW!" Naruto yelped, clutching his skull. "What the hell was that for?!"

Sakura sighed, rubbing her temples. "You idiots."

Harry chuckled, crossing his arms. "I feel like we’ve heard that before."

Sasuke gave the smallest of smirks. "Because we have."

Sakura exhaled, shaking her head before grabbing her shinobi pouch from her desk. "Let’s just go before we’re late."

Naruto grinned. "Now that’s what I like to hear!"

As they walked out together, Sakura cast one last glance at her house, at the hallway where her parents had just stood.

For some reason, a strange, uneasy feeling settled in her chest. Like a whisper in the back of her mind. A warning.

She shook it off.

She had a match to win.

Deep within the Forest of Death, in the damp, darkened corridors of a concealed underground base, a snake coiled within the shadows.

Orochimaru stood before an ornate, cracked mirror, adjusting the fabric of the Kazekage’s robes over his lean frame. The weight of the cloak, the slight stiffness of the collar—such trivial inconveniences did not bother him. Disguising himself as the Fourth Kazekage was the simplest, most efficient way to slither into the final stage of the Chunin Exams unnoticed.

And when the time came, the entire village would realize just how foolish they had been to let the enemy in through their gates.

A slow smirk curled upon his lips as he tilted his head, examining his reflection.

How laughably easy it had been to dispose of the real Kazekage. A man foolish enough to believe he could control Orochimaru. The corpse had been useful for practice, perfecting the voice, the mannerisms.

And soon, he would stand at Hiruzen Sarutobi’s side, as a former student to his former sensei—before tearing his throat out.

A quiet set of footsteps approached.

Orochimaru did not need to turn to know who it was.

The sound was too measured, too deliberate, too controlled. Kabuto.

The footsteps halted. A second passed.

Then, Kabuto spoke.

“Orochimaru-sama.”

Orochimaru’s golden, slit-pupiled eyes flickered lazily to the side. Kabuto’s posture was as poised as ever, but there was something tight in his shoulders, something subtly off in his stance.

Ah. Bad news, then.

Orochimaru hummed. “Speak.”

Kabuto adjusted his glasses with two fingers, his expression carefully neutral. “Several of our Sound shinobi have gone missing.”

Orochimaru’s smile remained, but his eyes sharpened.

“Missing?” His voice was a soft whisper, dangerously smooth.

Kabuto nodded. “Vanished without a trace. It was done too cleanly, and too efficiently. There are no bodies, no signs of struggle. Which means only one thing—”

Orochimaru’s fingers twitched as amusement curled in his gut.

“Hiruzen.”

Kabuto inclined his head. “The old man is on to us.”

Of course, he was.

Hiruzen was many things—sentimental, naive, weak—but he was not a fool.

Orochimaru had long known his former sensei was still sharp beneath his wrinkled skin, still cunning beneath the weight of his age. It was only a matter of time before he realized the true purpose of the Sound shinobi.

This would complicate the invasion, but not enough to stop it.

Hiruzen is prepared.

Orochimaru licked his lips.

Good.

A prepared Hiruzen would make this all the more satisfying. Still, he had no interest in engaging Sarutobi in a battle of numbers. That had never been his intent.

“Any other… interesting developments?” Orochimaru mused, adjusting the Kazekage’s hat on his head.

Kabuto’s eyes darkened slightly.

“Jiraiya is still in the village.”

Orochimaru paused.

Now that was irritating.

Jiraiya. That meddlesome fool.

The Third Hokage had been a threat, but A Sannin? That added variables to an equation that Orochimaru preferred to be predictable.

He had expected Jiraiya to leave before the final matches, returning to whatever pointless endeavors occupied his time. But the fact that he was still here meant something had caught his attention.

Something—or someone.

Orochimaru chuckled, low and sinister.

"How troublesome."

Kabuto pushed up his glasses, his lips pressing into a thin line. "Shall we adjust our strategy?"

"No," Orochimaru purred, placing the Kazekage's headdress atop his head. "We move forward. This minor inconvenience does not change our objectives."

They still had the Sand Village, still had Rasa’s Jinchūriki son, still had enough firepower to tear through the Leaf. And truthfully? The invasion itself was never really his plan.

It had been the Akatsuki’s.

A slow, pleased smile stretched across his lips.

The terrorist organization wanted chaos in the Leaf for their own reasons, and he had agreed to their terms—on the surface, at least. A reluctant alliance, nothing more.

He provided them with scientific expertise in exchange for test subjects, and in return, they let him be.

It was an arrangement of convenience.

And soon, he would no longer need them because The Cursed Seal of Heaven had already produced two perfect results.

Sasuke Uchiha.

Sakura Haruno.

Orochimaru sighed dramatically. "Ah, what wasted potential."

Kabuto glanced at him. "Sasuke-kun and Sakura-chan?"

Orochimaru grinned. "Indeed."

Both of them had dominated the Cursed Seal, adapted to it flawlessly. Their bodies were prime examples of genetic perfection. Successes.

And yet…

They were no longer his to take.

Sasuke was still within reach, but he was no longer viable as a vessel. The Uchiha’s body would be useful for other projects, but nothing more.

And Sakura?

A fascinating mutation.

Her adaptation to the Cursed Seal of Heaven had been unexpected, but remarkable. The way her chakra molded around it, absorbed it, made it her own—it was something he had never seen before.

If she lived through the invasion, he would revisit his interest in her.

But for now—

Orochimaru turned to Kabuto, his golden eyes gleaming. "Prepare for the finals."

Kabuto nodded. "Understood, Orochimaru-sama."

As Kabuto left, Orochimaru took one final glance in the mirror.

The Kazekage stared back at him.

He smiled.

By the end of the day, the Leaf would burn.

And Hiruzen Sarutobi’s corpse would be rotting at his feet.

The Chūnin Exams arena stood at the heart of the Hidden Leaf Village, a grand structure built to house thousands of spectators. The massive coliseum-like stadium, with its towering stone walls and open sky, exuded an air of both tradition and military spectacle.

Rows upon rows of seats stretched across the vast expanse, already filling with an eclectic mix of attendees—from eager civilians to battle-hardened shinobi, and most notably, an array of nobles, feudal lords, and powerful political figures.

At the highest tier of the stands, a reserved balcony was designated for the most important guests. There sat the Third Hokage, Hiruzen Sarutobi, garbed in his ceremonial robes and Kage hat, a picture of calm authority. Beside him was a man who, to all but a select few, was believed to be the Fourth Kazekage.

But beneath the veil of deception, Orochimaru's golden, serpentine eyes gleamed with unholy delight.

The crowd buzzed with anticipation, conversations swirling about who would prove themselves in this year's final matches. Shinobi exams were not merely tests of individual skill—they were a political display of a village's strength, and everyone present understood the implications.

Across the stadium, a massive stone board stood tall, displaying the names of the final contestants who had conquered the preliminary rounds. Their names were carved into the surface, glowing faintly with chakra:

Final Match Contestants

Naruto Uzumaki vs Neji Hyūga

Sakura Haruno vs Ino Yamanaka

Sasuke Uchiha vs Gaara

Shino Aburame vs Harry Potter

Shikamaru Nara vs Temari

Whoever triumphed in their match would be considered for promotion to chūnin.

The crowd reacted in varied waves of excitement and tension.

Some murmured about Naruto Uzumaki, the dead last, facing the prodigious Neji Hyūga, the indisputable strongest genin of the Hyūga clan.

Others whispered about Sakura Haruno and Ino Yamanaka—former friends turned rivals—who would now face each other in a true test of how far they'd come.

The most tension-filled whispers, however, centered around Sasuke Uchiha vs. Gaara. The last Uchiha against the demon of the Sand.

It was a spectacle waiting to happen.

For some, this was merely an event to watch young talent bloom.

For others, it was a battlefield in disguise.

Because beneath the excitement, beneath the spectacle, there was an undercurrent of something else entirely.

Dread.

The sharpest of minds, the most experienced shinobi, could feel it.

The invisible shift in the air, the weight in their chests. A wariness that even the most oblivious spectators might dismiss as nerves but to the battle-hardened meant something far worse. Because there were too many foreign shinobi in the village today. Because too many unfamiliar faces blended into the crowd. Because for all the supposed camaraderie between the Hidden Sand and the Hidden Leaf… something about the way the Kazekage sat beside the Hokage felt off.

And yet, despite the creeping tension, despite the growing unease, the matches would begin.

The stage was set.

And soon, the first blow would be struck.

The sun hung high over the massive Chūnin Exam arena, casting long shadows across the stone battlefield below. A hush spread through the crowd as a lone figure stepped forward to the center of the arena.

Genma Shiranui.

The seasoned tokubetsu jōnin stood relaxed, senbon lazily hanging from his lips, yet his presence carried an unmistakable weight. He had replaced Hayate Gekkō, the proctor of the preliminary rounds, who had mysteriously died just the night before.

Those who knew better were aware that Hayate's death had been no coincidence.

Genma raised his hand, and all eyes locked onto him as his voice rang through the stadium.

"Alright, listen up!" His tone was casual, yet there was an unmistakable authority behind it. "The first match of the Chūnin Exam finals—Naruto Uzumaki versus Neji Hyūga!"

A roar erupted from the stands, some cheering wildly, others murmuring in curiosity.

From opposite ends of the arena, two figures stepped forward.

Naruto walked with his usual confidence, hands shoved in his pockets, but his movements were measured, and deliberate. He was wearing blue and white—an unfamiliar color scheme to most who knew him. These weren’t just any colors. They were Namikaze colors.

Neji moved calmly, almost methodically, his Byakugan already active, veins protruding around his pale, all-seeing eyes. His posture was flawless, his expression unreadable.

As the two faced off in the center of the field, Genma raised his hand again.

"The rules are simple. No killing your opponent. The fight continues until one of you is knocked out, surrenders, or I declare the match over. Understood?"

Both genin nodded.

Genma’s gaze flickered between them before he snapped his hand down.

"Begin!"

Up in the stands, eyes narrowed, analyzing the two fighters below.

Among them sat clan heads, each more intrigued than the next.

Hiashi Hyūga watched with stoic intensity, unreadable as ever. Though he had already resigned himself to Neji’s fate as a branch member, he could not deny that the boy had proven himself to be one of the strongest Hyūga of his generation.

But his gaze lingered on Naruto.

It wasn't just Hiashi who had noticed. The colors Naruto wore had drawn attention.

"Blue and white…" murmured Shikaku Nara, brow slightly raised.

"Those are the Namikaze colors," noted Chōza Akimichi, frowning in thought. "I hadn’t noticed before, but—"

"They fit him quite well, don’t they?"

A new voice entered the conversation, and the air around them shifted.

The clan heads turned sharply, eyes widening in various levels of shock, disbelief, and even wariness.

There, sitting lazily among them as though he had always been present, was Hayato Namikaze.

The reclusive, legendary figure of Konoha, the man who had disappeared after the death of the Fourth Hokage, his own nephew. He had been gone for years, shunning the world, and yet now—now he was here.

"Hayato," Shikaku murmured, studying the older man carefully. "Didn’t think I’d ever see you again."

Hayato smirked, his piercing blue eyes scanning the arena below. "Didn’t think I’d be back, but life is full of surprises."

"Indeed," Hiashi said, his gaze unreadable as he too turned back to the fight.

Among the clan heads, there were unspoken thoughts and silent realizations.

If Hayato was here, openly associating with Naruto, if Naruto was wearing Namikaze colors—what did that mean? Was the Fourth Hokage’s legacy about to take a new turn?

As the match between Naruto and Neji officially began, one thing was clear:

This Chūnin Exam was no longer just a tournament.

It was a battleground for the future.