ROOT
The weight of the early morning sun felt oppressive, as if the very sky itself bore down on the young Uchiha, Kagami. His eyes were the color of crimson, the Sharingan locked in place—a gift of his bloodline, an ability forged in the heat of battle. War had come early to the Uchiha, and Kagami’s blood had bled in service to his clan, to his comrades, to Konoha. Every time his Sharingan activated, it came at a cost. His vision blurred with every use, his eyes bleeding from the strain of using its power too often.
It had been a gift. A blessing. Or so he’d been taught. But now, it felt more like a curse.
Danzō Shimura stood at the edge of the training field, watching. His gaze never wavered from Kagami, though he knew it wouldn’t be returned. The Uchiha had grown too strong, too quickly. The eyes. Those accursed eyes.
Danzō’s fingers twitched with barely-contained anger. He saw the power the Uchiha had—the very thing that made them dangerous. It wasn’t the Sharingan itself, no—it was the way the Uchiha carried it, so easily, so freely. The power to control, to manipulate, to destroy. And they didn’t even have to work for it the way he did. No amount of training or sacrifice could make someone like Kagami. He was born into it. And that, to Danzō, was anathema to the order he sought to create.
His teeth clenched, jaw tight as his eyes narrowed. It wasn't jealousy. It was fear. The power Kagami wielded, so effortlessly, so fluidly, made Danzō feel small. Weak. And no one would ever call him weak.
Hiruzen Sarutobi’s face appeared in his mind, as it often did, that damned look of sympathy and understanding. Hiruzen, with his warmth, his hope, and his vision of peace. Hiruzen, who was weak. The Third Hokage. The successor that Tobirama had chosen, and not him. Danzō felt the old wounds tearing open again. They had all been part of the plan, part of the team—Hiruzen, Homura, Koharu, Kagami, and himself. But in the end, it was Hiruzen who had inherited the title of Hokage.
Danzō’s eyes flickered to the darkened corner of the forest along the edges of the training grounds. Buried in the depths of his mind, a plan had been forming. A solution. It wasn’t just about power—it was about control. About ensuring the village was safe from threats, from weakness.
The shinobi, the villagers—they lived in an illusion of peace. But Danzō knew better. He had seen enough bloodshed, enough battles, to understand what true peace demanded. And it demanded strength. Unyielding strength.
His fingers tightened into fists, eyes fixed on the shadows where soon the seeds of his plan would be nurtured. ROOT. He would create a force unlike any other—soldiers, tools, perfect instruments of the village’s will. It didn’t matter that they were children, that they had been taken from their families. They would be molded, reshaped into the perfect shinobi. Emotionless, loyal, efficient. Their only purpose would be the village. Nothing more.
And it would all be for Konoha. It had to be. There could be no other way.
He had already taken children from orphanages, from villages torn apart by war. Children whose names would never be remembered, whose families were forgotten.
The first test subjects had been small, unremarkable. But now, they were becoming something else. Danzō had seen their potential—much like the tools he had crafted for his missions—his ROOT soldiers would be tools in the truest sense of the word. They would be powerful, ruthless, and they would answer to no one but him.
So, Danzo had asked Kagami out to talk. But, Kagami, such a softened soul, wasn’t understanding him.
Danzō Shimura’s face, as always, was stoic, his eyes cold but fixated on the Uchiha before him. Kagami’s crimson eyes, now with the faintest hint of weariness from years of constant strain, met his gaze, unyielding.
The air between them was thick with unspoken words, with the weight of unsaid truths. Danzō had spent years considering this moment, this conversation—and yet he knew, deep down, it would never be easy. His hand twitched, as if fighting the urge to make this conversation something more final.
“Kagami,” Danzō’s voice was low but firm, “You’ve always been a tool of war. A protector. You know what it means to sacrifice—to give everything for the village.” His words rang with conviction, but his eyes flickered with something else, something almost desperate. “I’ve seen it. I’ve seen your strength, your loyalty. Your eyes... they’re a weapon, one that could be used for more than just fighting. You could help me make this village truly secure.”
Kagami’s gaze hardened. He had given so much of himself—his vision, his heart, his soul—to this village. To his comrades. To the dream of peace. “You want me to turn my back on everything, Danzō. You want me to become a tool—no different than the children you’ve already taken. Is that really what you think the village needs? Soldiers who have no heart, no soul?”
Danzō’s jaw clenched, his hands coming together as though trying to hold back the frustration welling inside. He took a slow breath, keeping his voice steady, though his words were tinged with a cold edge. “It’s not about emotion, Kagami. It’s about control. It’s about strength. Do you think this world can survive on hope alone? The peace you’ve fought for—it’s fragile. It’s a lie. People are weak, and that weakness is what will destroy Konoha. But with ROOT, we can make sure the village is never again at the mercy of those who would seek to tear it apart.”
He stepped closer, his gaze intense, almost pleading now. “The children I’ve taken—they are the future. They will be the ones to protect this village. We can’t afford to coddle them with ideals of living a ‘normal’ life. Not when war is always just around the corner. You of all people should understand that. You’ve seen it. You’ve been through it.” His voice dropped to a whisper, his eyes almost sad. “How many more must die before you accept the truth?”
Kagami’s fists tightened at his sides, but his voice was calm, unwavering. “I’ve sacrificed everything for this village, Danzō. My eyes—my Sharingan—are not meant to be used as tools of control. They were never meant to strip away a person’s humanity. They were meant to protect those I care about, to fight for something greater than survival. They were meant for peace. For life.”
Danzō’s eyes darkened, and the brief flicker of vulnerability that had passed over his face disappeared into a controlled mask. “Peace... You still think peace is possible with children like the Uchiha running wild? You think the Uchiha will ever be content to live under the same roof as everyone else? Your clan’s blood is soaked in violence, Kagami. That’s your legacy. The Sharingan isn’t a gift—it’s a curse. And the sooner you accept that, the better.”
Kagami’s gaze sharpened, anger kept controlled under the blacks of his eyes. “I will accept my legacy, Danzō. But not like this. You want me to betray my principles, my beliefs, my humanity— my very clan? You want me to embrace a world where children are raised to be nothing but weapons. You’ve already taken too much, Danzō. Too many have already paid the price of your vision of control.”
Danzō’s face twisted, a brief flash of anger breaking through. His voice raised. “I am doing what needs to be done! I’m protecting the village. You don’t understand the burden of leadership. You don’t see the choices I have to make! You think you can hold onto your ideals, but the reality is that the world is not kind, Kagami. And one day, you’ll see that. The world will break you if you don’t accept it.”
Kagami’s voice lowered, filled with a quiet resolve. “Then let it break me. I’d rather be broken by the truth than live in a lie of control and fear.”
For a long moment, the silence between them was suffocating. Danzō stared at Kagami, his hand trembling at his side. For all his power, all his convictions, there was something about Kagami’s unwavering belief in his own ideals—his humanity—that shook him to his core. This wasn’t about winning the argument. It was about something far more dangerous. The realization that he might be wrong.
But he wouldn’t admit it. Not now. Not yet.
“I see,” Danzō said, his voice cold once more. “Then you’ve made your choice. You’re no different from the others, after all. Too weak to do what’s necessary.”
Kagami’s eyes glinted with the weight of the past, the pain of countless battles fought, countless comrades lost. “No, Danzō. I’m not weak. I’m choosing to fight for something worth living for. Not just for survival.”
Danzō turned his back, his footsteps heavy. But before he left, he spoke without turning around. “If you change your mind, you know where to find me.”
Kagami watched him go, his heart heavy with the weight of what had just transpired. Danzō had offered him the world—his vision of order, of control, of unyielding protection. But Kagami knew better. He couldn’t let himself be turned into one of Danzō’s perfect tools. Not innocent children either.
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The underground headquarters of ROOT was cloaked in an eerie silence, the only light coming from the cold, flickering lanterns that lined the narrow corridor, casting long shadows on the floor. This place, hidden beneath the surface of the village, was where Danzō’s vision of the future was being forged. But it was also a place where darkness consumed everything it touched—where emotions were stripped away, and only obedience remained.
Kagami’s footsteps echoed quietly as he descended deeper into the bowels of the underground facility. His Sharingan, always vigilant, scanned the surroundings, but he wasn’t looking for enemies. No, tonight, he was meeting Danzō. Alone.
The door to the inner chambers of ROOT opened with a creak, and Kagami stepped inside. Danzō stood at the far end of the room, his back to him, his posture stiff, his voice low and controlled.
“I wondered when you would come,” Danzō said without turning around, his tone sharp, yet there was something almost expectant in it.
Kagami closed the door behind him, his eyes fixed on Danzō as he walked closer, taking careful steps. The man he once respected now seemed like a stranger. A shadow of someone who had lost everything to power, to obsession.
Kagami’s voice broke that silence, sharp and low, his words deliberate. “I don’t understand you anymore, Danzō.” His tone was a mixture of anger and disbelief, but underneath it was a quiet sorrow that weighed heavily on him. “Tobirama died for a future without this. A future where children aren’t raised to be tools for war. He wanted a world where we didn’t have to strip away everything that made us human just to survive. Have you forgotten that? What he believed in?”
Danzō’s gaze didn’t falter, but there was a flicker of something behind his eyes—something old and painful. But his voice remained calm, cold. “Tobirama’s vision was a dream, Kagami. A dream that died with him. The world we live in doesn’t work like that. You know that better than anyone.”
”Tobirama’s teachings weren’t about control. They weren’t about stripping away the core of what makes us who we are—about turning us into emotionless tools. He wanted to build something better.” Kagami kept his Sharingan spinning, wanting to remember this moment; his conviction in his argument.
He couldn’t stop the anger now, the raw emotion welling up in him. His voice broke, betraying the pain he felt. “Look at what you’ve become. This isn’t control, Danzō. This is tyranny. You’re justifying cruelty to protect yourself. You’ve become everything Tobirama warned us about—the kind of leader who crushes people’s spirits to keep the village safe, no matter the cost. But the cost is too high. You can’t keep doing this.”
Danzō’s voice came out quietly, almost as if the words themselves caused him pain. “I do what’s necessary. I always have. I’ve seen what the world does to those who stand by ideals. I stand by the village. Only the strong survive. Humanity is a weakness, Kagami. You of all people should understand that. The Uchiha live with the burden of emotion. It’s your bloodline’s curse, and you’ve been trying to prove to the world that you’re above it. But you’re not. No one is. Emotions lead to failure. And failure means death.”
Kagami’s breath caught in his chest. He had heard Danzō say this before, but it felt different now. Danzō wasn’t just justifying his actions. It wasn’t just about power or control—it was about fear. Fear of losing himself, of losing his grasp on everything he had worked for. Kagami’s expression softened for a moment, a hint of vulnerability slipping through his usually composed exterior. He let the comment slip past, regarding his clan. There was more importance to be discussed here.
“You’re scared, Danzō,” Kagami said softly, his words almost a whisper. “You’ve lost too much, and now you’re willing to throw everything away just to keep control. But I can’t let you do this.”
Danzō’s gaze flickered, the smallest sign of doubt passing through him before he quickly masked it. He stepped forward, his voice quieter now, but still carrying the weight of years of decisions. “I’ve sacrificed everything for this village. Everything. And I won’t let anyone—not you, Kagami—tell me that I’m wrong.”
Kagami walked forward as he spoke, words calm as they were vicious.”I refuse to believe that it all has to be for nothing. Tobirama believed in a future where children wouldn’t have to become weapons. Where we wouldn’t have to become the very thing we fought against. He believed in a future—a world where we could choose something better.” He met his gaze, Sharingan spinning near madly. “Do you not hear me, Danzō?”
For a long moment, Danzō didn’t speak. His gaze turned toward the shadows, his hand resting against his prosthetic arm as though searching for something—an answer, perhaps, or a justification. He couldn’t meet the other’s eyes.
“Please, Danzō. You’ve been through too much to lose yourself like this. You don’t have to do this alone. Let me help you. Let me help you find a way back. A way that doesn’t cost the soul of the village, the soul of us.”
Perhaps it was too bold. Too intimate for a man like Danzō, but before he could reach out, Danzō spoke, his voice quiet and distant. “I’ve already made my choice, Kagami. I will do whatever it takes to protect this village. The idealism you cling to will be the death of you. You’re a fool to think you can protect the village by pretending that we can all just live in harmony. This world requires sacrifice. ROOT is necessary. I will not allow your weakness to destroy it. Even if that means sacrificing everything—even you—then so be it.”
The words stung, sharp and final, and Kagami stood frozen for a moment, the weight of their shared history hanging heavy between them. He had tried. He had really tried.
But Danzō had already gone too far.
Kagami’s eyes still watched Danzō. Spinning, still, wedged deep in the man’s arm. ____________________________________________