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“Another stack for you, General,” Nora smirked, dropping an additional stack of documents by the edge of Hatsuharu’s already paper-logged desk. Without so much as a glance at the new arrivals, Hatsuharu shoved them off the edge, the cascade missing Nora’s toes by an inch. “Hey, watch it! And don’t expect me to clean up this mess,” she glared. “You know, most would consider your promotion a privilege. I would be a little more grateful if I were you.”

“This promotion is no privilege,” the newly minted general glowered down at the papers below him. “Paperwork is a prison, the deadlines on these forms more inescapable than iron bars.” While Hatsuharu had gladly accepted heightened responsibility during the war, he did not welcome the actual promotion that came afterwards. Becoming a general placed him under the oversight of both the public and his father, precisely what he machinated to avoid. Remaining in the establishment’s good graces required effort and took nearly all time away from his private endeavors.

A soft rap at the door was suddenly followed by the entrance of the towering Yemon. Spying the litter of papers covering the floor, he kneeled with a heavy sigh and began to collect them. “How about less playing and more working, you two?”

“How about you show up to work on time?” Hatsuharu retorted, irritably.

“He wouldn’t have to work two jobs if you’d give us a raise,” Nora snapped. “Yemon has a lot more expenses on his hands now that he’s on his own.”

“You moved out, Yemon? A wise decision. What hen house needs a rooster when it already has this loud chick?”

“He moved because his head was too tall for the ceiling,” Nora hissed.

“Money is no issue,” Yemon corrected. “I volunteer at the clinic for free,” the medic said, placing the collected stack back on the desk. Though the war had ended, Yemon found that for his profession, it was just beginning as floods of wounded veterans squatted in hospital waiting rooms for treatment. “It won’t happen again. By the way, there’s a group of people waiting outside to see you.”

Hatsuharu raised a curious brow. “Nora?”

“They aren’t on your list,” she shrugged. “You have five other appointments first. I told them that once you’d finished, then we could pencil them in.”

“Au contraire,” Hatsuharu threw down his pen. “Send them in.”

“But what about everyone waiting on the list?” Nora asked, outraged. “This is hardly fair!”

“But far more interesting. I’m overdue for an unexpected appointment. Send them in,” he repeated.

With a nod, Yemon opened the office door and motioned for the three strangers to enter. At his signal, the three individuals, two men and a blue-haired lady, stepped inside. Though all three wore Amegakure forehead protectors, they dressed in heavy, dark grey cloaks with chin high collars instead of Hanzō’s regimented uniforms. Hatsuharu puzzled for just a moment over their identity before his eyes lit with excitement. “Indeed this is a welcome surprise! Lady and gentlemen, how can I help the Akatsuki today?”

“General Hatsuharu,” the orange-headed male stepped forward. “First, allow us to congratulate you on your promotion.”

“Thank you . . . Yahiko, was it?”

“Yes. My friends, Konan and Nagato, and I have an update for you regarding the curse mark you inquired about.”

Nora and Yemon groaned in unison as Hatsuharu shot up in his seat. If there had been any benefit to the war at all, it had been the untimely postponement to the now infamous “Operation Tongue” that had led to countless awkward encounters and Yemon’s near arrest masquerading as a dentist. Ever since, the siblings had made a pact never to mention the mission to Hatsuharu lest he regain interest. So much for that idea.

“Ah yes!” Hatsuharu said, poorly concealing his piqued interest. “What have you found for me?”

“A source,” Yahiko replied. “Two weeks ago, we discovered the curse mark on a member of Konoha’s Anbu gathering intelligence in the city. The Konoha shinobi took his own life before we were able to discover a means to remove the seal or transport him to you.”

“We’ve found individuals infiltrating multiple organizations. How do you know the Konoha Anbu is the source and not just another targeted organization?”

“We weren’t sure,” the red-headed male, Nagato, spoke, “until we found a second Konoha Anbu bearing the same seal last week. He escaped our grasp and fled, presumably back to Konohagakure. Three of our members pursued and have not returned. After eight days, we don’t expect them to.” The three frowned in sadness at the reference to their missing comrades as a heavy silence engulfed the room.

“Besides,” Konan broke the silence, “if they were simply infiltrating the Anbu, why would they send them to Amegakure? From what we’ve observed, these shinobi take great pains to blend in with the infiltrated organization.”

Hatsuharu leaned back into his chair, clasping his hands in thought. “During the war, I encountered many Anbu, but none who bore the seal. If what you say is true, than perhaps these Anbu shinobi have a special mission, or even more plausible, belong to a special branch of the Anbu.”

“What would you like us to do now?” Yahiko asked.

“Wait. I need to think about this and do some digging of my own. I will send for you again once I’ve decided. Thank you for this most fascinating report.”

The three nodded in acknowledgement, but made no motion to leave the room. “General, before we leave, there’s something I have to ask of you,” Yahiko said.

“Compensation for your missing comrades, of course,” Hatsuharu reached into his drawer for his checkbook.

“No, not that,” Yahiko waved his hands. “We could never place a price on our friend’s lives. But we would like formal recognition from your father. They dedicated their lives to protect his rule, after all.”

Hatsuharu stared at the Akatsuki leader, all former traces of levity draining from his face. “Of course. I’ll tell you what. Keep digging. Find the leader of this Anbu sect if you can. And once you do, we’ll have something that will make my father truly grateful and willing to endorse you.” From the sideways glances the three exchanged, it was clear it was not the answer they had hoped for. Even so, the three bowed to the general and his teammates and took their leave.

After the Akatsuki had traveled a safe distance from his office, Hatsuharu released a pent up sigh of frustration. “Enlisting their help was a mistake.”

“What makes you say that?” Nora asked, surprised. “I think they’ve done well. They sure found a lot more than we did.”

“They’re too expensive. Formal recognition is a price my father will be unwilling to pay.”

“Why not? They’ve successfully countered Kandachi time and time again. They’re helping rebuild destroyed villages. And they’re popular in the countryside,” Yemon pointed out. “What does Lord Hanzo have to lose by recognizing them?”

“Control,” Hatsuharu stated simply. “Groups like them come with their own agendas, whether they support my father or not. I know you’ll be thrilled to hear me say this, but let’s make it a priority to find this Anbu leader before they do.”

_____

He was right, Danzo read the missive with grim satisfaction. Someone within Amegakure was onto him. While occasionally the spies he sent to gather intelligence within the Rain were discovered, they had never been trailed. At least, not until now. Evidently, an unknown enemy had followed his latest spy back to Konohagakure. And according to this latest message from Root headquarters, that hidden enemy now had a face. The team of Amegakure shinobi had been successfully captured, the note disclosed. Danzo whispered a silent prayer of relief, grateful not only that the three had been captured, but also that they had been captured by Root and not the Anbu or Leaf police. While Root had technically been disbanded years ago, the Third Hokage’s guilty conscious turned a blind eye to his friend’s organization, allowing it to prosper under the Anbu’s nose.

As soon as he was able, he would return to the Hidden Leaf to interrogate the trespassers himself. But that would have to wait. First, he had another Amegakure enemy to address. Tucking the note into his vest for safe keeping, Danzo rapped on a door he had not touched in ages. “Come in,” the Fire Daimyo’s voice called from inside. Opening the door, Danzo immediately had to avert his eyes from the blinding light that shined through the open windows. As his eyes adjusted to the brightness, Danzo gazed around in surprise at the once familiar room. It was hardly recognizable. A new portrait of Ayame’s wife hung beside his desk. The desk itself, once covered in maps and plans, now bore stationary and agricultural reports. As Danzo’s eyes scanned the desk, they were drawn to the daimyo’s trembling hands. Noticing this, Ayame hid them upon his lap. “How may I be of service to you, Danzo Shimura?”

“Good afternoon, my Lord,” Danzo bowed stiffly. “I’m here because my sources inform me that you’ve decided to invite . . . a controversial guest to your upcoming birthday party.”

“Danzo, it’s my party and I’ll invite whomever I want to.”

“You cannot invite her,” Danzo’s voice rose. “Were she to even to set foot on Konoha’s soil, she should be arrested as a traitor.”

“I believe the war is sufficiently behind us that we can move on from such drama.”

“Using the Land of Iron’s summit as a distraction for Amegakure’s invasion and her subsequent actions in the war itself are unpardonable. If you forgive her now, Konoha will appear weak. Shiori can never set foot in Konoha again. Not after she humiliated us.”

“Humiliated us? Or humiliated you, Danzo? I’m afraid I don’t share your sentiments.” Danzo’s usually bloodless cheeks flushed in rage. To say that Shiori had humiliated him was an understatement. She had refused his hand. She had thwarted his plans. She had tricked him. He could almost assassinate himself for sparing her all those years ago. To Danzo, Shiori was more than a source of humiliation. She was an open wound that hemorrhaged frustration and disappointment.

“Shiori and I may rarely see eye to eye,” Ayame continued, “but I will give her this; my sister knows how to choose her battles. I, on the other hand, chose war over a few trade concessions which I ultimately agreed to anyway. You should learn from her, as I did. Do not pick this fight with me. Shiori will be invited, and if you have no more to say, leave me in peace.”

There was no more to say. But before Danzo left, he studied the Fire Daimyo with fierce intensity. His shaking hands, grey hairs, and deepening wrinkles confirmed Danzo’s suspicions. His now uncomfortably soft and welcoming office told the same story. This daimyo was weak and had been weakening for some time. And if Konoha’s enemies ever caught wind of that weakness, they’d descend once more upon the country. With the daimyo and hokage unwilling to stand firm, Root would have to in their place. Mind now made up, Danzo bowed once more and headed home.

Suspecting that Ayame would refuse his advice, Danzo had already prepared himself for potential action by issuing more spies into Amegakure to gather intelligence on Hanzo’s family, their whereabouts and activities. Having two of those spies discovered was a setback, but perhaps one he could transform into an opportunity. Arriving back at Root headquarters, he asked to see the three prisoners immediately. Or in this case, their remains.

“My apologies, sir,” a Root shinobi reported. “They would not surrender information easily. We were forced to apply . . . extreme measures to make them comply. We were able to gather some intelligence from them, however, before they perished.”

“My forgiveness will depend on how much you were able to learn from them,” Danzo said, a grim frown crossing his features.

“We learned much. They are from a private organization called the Akatsuki. It sounds like a pacifist organization, unaffiliated with the Hanzo regime but in support of it. We learned that they are also responsible for the disappearance of our last agent.”

“Then by now, they likely suspect the Anbu,” Danzo stroked his chin in thought. This was bad. If the Akatsuki supported Hanzo’s regime, it was only a matter of time until they reported to the village head that Konoha was already breaching its peacetime agreement. Afterwards, it would only take a brief investigation before all fingers pointed towards him. Damn. The last thing he had time to contend with right now was a rogue organization. “This Akatsuki knows too much. We need to eliminate them. Tell me more about the organization.”

“They are small. Thirty members at most, though they have countryside support.”

“That’s too many to eliminate quietly.” Danzo lapsed into silence as he studied the bodies of the three unfortunate Akatsuki. Though unofficial, the group appeared well organized. Each member wore a matching cloak and carried a red hilted katana. In order to pass this deep into Konohagakure, they had to be skilled as well. And lastly, they were well liked by the people of Amegakure, but not, Danzo realized, by the government. Or at least, not well enough for formal recognition. If anything, their popularity could potentially pose a challenge to that of Amegakure’s head, Sanshōuo no Hanzō. There was his opening, he smiled. He needed to get rid of the Akatsuki, and Hanzo would do it for him.

“Save their bodies, their clothes, their weapons, everything. And fetch me three Amegakure uniforms immediately. I leave for Amegakure with all of it at nightfall. You will accompany me.”

If the Root shinobi found the request strange, he didn’t show it. “Sir,” he nodded before vanishing to retrieve the items.

The Akatsuki would soon be dealt with, but first, they would help him deal with Shiori.

Description

“Another stack for you, General,” Nora smirked, dropping an additional stack of documents by the edge of Hatsuharu’s already paper-logged desk. Without so much as a glance at the new arrivals, Hatsuharu shoved them off the edge, the cascade missing Nora’s toes by an inch. “Hey, watch it! And don’t expect me to clean up this mess,” she glared. “You know, most would consider your promotion a privilege. I would be a little more grateful if I were you.”

“This promotion is no privilege,” the newly minted general glowered down at the papers below him. “Paperwork is a prison, the deadlines on these forms more inescapable than iron bars.” While Hatsuharu had gladly accepted heightened responsibility during the war, he did not welcome the actual promotion that came afterwards. Becoming a general placed him under the oversight of both the public and his father, precisely what he machinated to avoid. Remaining in the establishment’s good graces required effort and took nearly all time away from his private endeavors.

A soft rap at the door was suddenly followed by the entrance of the towering Yemon. Spying the litter of papers covering the floor, he kneeled with a heavy sigh and began to collect them. “How about less playing and more working, you two?”

“How about you show up to work on time?” Hatsuharu retorted, irritably.

“He wouldn’t have to work two jobs if you’d give us a raise,” Nora snapped. “Yemon has a lot more expenses on his hands now that he’s on his own.”

“You moved out, Yemon? A wise decision. What hen house needs a rooster when it already has this loud chick?”

“He moved because his head was too tall for the ceiling,” Nora hissed.

“Money is no issue,” Yemon corrected. “I volunteer at the clinic for free,” the medic said, placing the collected stack back on the desk. Though the war had ended, Yemon found that for his profession, it was just beginning as floods of wounded veterans squatted in hospital waiting rooms for treatment. “It won’t happen again. By the way, there’s a group of people waiting outside to see you.”

Hatsuharu raised a curious brow. “Nora?”

“They aren’t on your list,” she shrugged. “You have five other appointments first. I told them that once you’d finished, then we could pencil them in.”

“Au contraire,” Hatsuharu threw down his pen. “Send them in.”

“But what about everyone waiting on the list?” Nora asked, outraged. “This is hardly fair!”

“But far more interesting. I’m overdue for an unexpected appointment. Send them in,” he repeated.

With a nod, Yemon opened the office door and motioned for the three strangers to enter. At his signal, the three individuals, two men and a blue-haired lady, stepped inside. Though all three wore Amegakure forehead protectors, they dressed in heavy, dark grey cloaks with chin high collars instead of Hanzō’s regimented uniforms. Hatsuharu puzzled for just a moment over their identity before his eyes lit with excitement. “Indeed this is a welcome surprise! Lady and gentlemen, how can I help the Akatsuki today?”

“General Hatsuharu,” the orange-headed male stepped forward. “First, allow us to congratulate you on your promotion.”

“Thank you . . . Yahiko, was it?”

“Yes. My friends, Konan and Nagato, and I have an update for you regarding the curse mark you inquired about.”

Nora and Yemon groaned in unison as Hatsuharu shot up in his seat. If there had been any benefit to the war at all, it had been the untimely postponement to the now infamous “Operation Tongue” that had led to countless awkward encounters and Yemon’s near arrest masquerading as a dentist. Ever since, the siblings had made a pact never to mention the mission to Hatsuharu lest he regain interest. So much for that idea.

“Ah yes!” Hatsuharu said, poorly concealing his piqued interest. “What have you found for me?”

“A source,” Yahiko replied. “Two weeks ago, we discovered the curse mark on a member of Konoha’s Anbu gathering intelligence in the city. The Konoha shinobi took his own life before we were able to discover a means to remove the seal or transport him to you.”

“We’ve found individuals infiltrating multiple organizations. How do you know the Konoha Anbu is the source and not just another targeted organization?”

“We weren’t sure,” the red-headed male, Nagato, spoke, “until we found a second Konoha Anbu bearing the same seal last week. He escaped our grasp and fled, presumably back to Konohagakure. Three of our members pursued and have not returned. After eight days, we don’t expect them to.” The three frowned in sadness at the reference to their missing comrades as a heavy silence engulfed the room.

“Besides,” Konan broke the silence, “if they were simply infiltrating the Anbu, why would they send them to Amegakure? From what we’ve observed, these shinobi take great pains to blend in with the infiltrated organization.”

Hatsuharu leaned back into his chair, clasping his hands in thought. “During the war, I encountered many Anbu, but none who bore the seal. If what you say is true, than perhaps these Anbu shinobi have a special mission, or even more plausible, belong to a special branch of the Anbu.”

“What would you like us to do now?” Yahiko asked.

“Wait. I need to think about this and do some digging of my own. I will send for you again once I’ve decided. Thank you for this most fascinating report.”

The three nodded in acknowledgement, but made no motion to leave the room. “General, before we leave, there’s something I have to ask of you,” Yahiko said.

“Compensation for your missing comrades, of course,” Hatsuharu reached into his drawer for his checkbook.

“No, not that,” Yahiko waved his hands. “We could never place a price on our friend’s lives. But we would like formal recognition from your father. They dedicated their lives to protect his rule, after all.”

Hatsuharu stared at the Akatsuki leader, all former traces of levity draining from his face. “Of course. I’ll tell you what. Keep digging. Find the leader of this Anbu sect if you can. And once you do, we’ll have something that will make my father truly grateful and willing to endorse you.” From the sideways glances the three exchanged, it was clear it was not the answer they had hoped for. Even so, the three bowed to the general and his teammates and took their leave.

After the Akatsuki had traveled a safe distance from his office, Hatsuharu released a pent up sigh of frustration. “Enlisting their help was a mistake.”

“What makes you say that?” Nora asked, surprised. “I think they’ve done well. They sure found a lot more than we did.”

“They’re too expensive. Formal recognition is a price my father will be unwilling to pay.”

“Why not? They’ve successfully countered Kandachi time and time again. They’re helping rebuild destroyed villages. And they’re popular in the countryside,” Yemon pointed out. “What does Lord Hanzo have to lose by recognizing them?”

“Control,” Hatsuharu stated simply. “Groups like them come with their own agendas, whether they support my father or not. I know you’ll be thrilled to hear me say this, but let’s make it a priority to find this Anbu leader before they do.”

_____

He was right, Danzo read the missive with grim satisfaction. Someone within Amegakure was onto him. While occasionally the spies he sent to gather intelligence within the Rain were discovered, they had never been trailed. At least, not until now. Evidently, an unknown enemy had followed his latest spy back to Konohagakure. And according to this latest message from Root headquarters, that hidden enemy now had a face. The team of Amegakure shinobi had been successfully captured, the note disclosed. Danzo whispered a silent prayer of relief, grateful not only that the three had been captured, but also that they had been captured by Root and not the Anbu or Leaf police. While Root had technically been disbanded years ago, the Third Hokage’s guilty conscious turned a blind eye to his friend’s organization, allowing it to prosper under the Anbu’s nose.

As soon as he was able, he would return to the Hidden Leaf to interrogate the trespassers himself. But that would have to wait. First, he had another Amegakure enemy to address. Tucking the note into his vest for safe keeping, Danzo rapped on a door he had not touched in ages. “Come in,” the Fire Daimyo’s voice called from inside. Opening the door, Danzo immediately had to avert his eyes from the blinding light that shined through the open windows. As his eyes adjusted to the brightness, Danzo gazed around in surprise at the once familiar room. It was hardly recognizable. A new portrait of Ayame’s wife hung beside his desk. The desk itself, once covered in maps and plans, now bore stationary and agricultural reports. As Danzo’s eyes scanned the desk, they were drawn to the daimyo’s trembling hands. Noticing this, Ayame hid them upon his lap. “How may I be of service to you, Danzo Shimura?”

“Good afternoon, my Lord,” Danzo bowed stiffly. “I’m here because my sources inform me that you’ve decided to invite . . . a controversial guest to your upcoming birthday party.”

“Danzo, it’s my party and I’ll invite whomever I want to.”

“You cannot invite her,” Danzo’s voice rose. “Were she to even to set foot on Konoha’s soil, she should be arrested as a traitor.”

“I believe the war is sufficiently behind us that we can move on from such drama.”

“Using the Land of Iron’s summit as a distraction for Amegakure’s invasion and her subsequent actions in the war itself are unpardonable. If you forgive her now, Konoha will appear weak. Shiori can never set foot in Konoha again. Not after she humiliated us.”

“Humiliated us? Or humiliated you, Danzo? I’m afraid I don’t share your sentiments.” Danzo’s usually bloodless cheeks flushed in rage. To say that Shiori had humiliated him was an understatement. She had refused his hand. She had thwarted his plans. She had tricked him. He could almost assassinate himself for sparing her all those years ago. To Danzo, Shiori was more than a source of humiliation. She was an open wound that hemorrhaged frustration and disappointment.

“Shiori and I may rarely see eye to eye,” Ayame continued, “but I will give her this; my sister knows how to choose her battles. I, on the other hand, chose war over a few trade concessions which I ultimately agreed to anyway. You should learn from her, as I did. Do not pick this fight with me. Shiori will be invited, and if you have no more to say, leave me in peace.”

There was no more to say. But before Danzo left, he studied the Fire Daimyo with fierce intensity. His shaking hands, grey hairs, and deepening wrinkles confirmed Danzo’s suspicions. His now uncomfortably soft and welcoming office told the same story. This daimyo was weak and had been weakening for some time. And if Konoha’s enemies ever caught wind of that weakness, they’d descend once more upon the country. With the daimyo and hokage unwilling to stand firm, Root would have to in their place. Mind now made up, Danzo bowed once more and headed home.

Suspecting that Ayame would refuse his advice, Danzo had already prepared himself for potential action by issuing more spies into Amegakure to gather intelligence on Hanzo’s family, their whereabouts and activities. Having two of those spies discovered was a setback, but perhaps one he could transform into an opportunity. Arriving back at Root headquarters, he asked to see the three prisoners immediately. Or in this case, their remains.

“My apologies, sir,” a Root shinobi reported. “They would not surrender information easily. We were forced to apply . . . extreme measures to make them comply. We were able to gather some intelligence from them, however, before they perished.”

“My forgiveness will depend on how much you were able to learn from them,” Danzo said, a grim frown crossing his features.

“We learned much. They are from a private organization called the Akatsuki. It sounds like a pacifist organization, unaffiliated with the Hanzo regime but in support of it. We learned that they are also responsible for the disappearance of our last agent.”

“Then by now, they likely suspect the Anbu,” Danzo stroked his chin in thought. This was bad. If the Akatsuki supported Hanzo’s regime, it was only a matter of time until they reported to the village head that Konoha was already breaching its peacetime agreement. Afterwards, it would only take a brief investigation before all fingers pointed towards him. Damn. The last thing he had time to contend with right now was a rogue organization. “This Akatsuki knows too much. We need to eliminate them. Tell me more about the organization.”

“They are small. Thirty members at most, though they have countryside support.”

“That’s too many to eliminate quietly.” Danzo lapsed into silence as he studied the bodies of the three unfortunate Akatsuki. Though unofficial, the group appeared well organized. Each member wore a matching cloak and carried a red hilted katana. In order to pass this deep into Konohagakure, they had to be skilled as well. And lastly, they were well liked by the people of Amegakure, but not, Danzo realized, by the government. Or at least, not well enough for formal recognition. If anything, their popularity could potentially pose a challenge to that of Amegakure’s head, Sanshōuo no Hanzō. There was his opening, he smiled. He needed to get rid of the Akatsuki, and Hanzo would do it for him.

“Save their bodies, their clothes, their weapons, everything. And fetch me three Amegakure uniforms immediately. I leave for Amegakure with all of it at nightfall. You will accompany me.”

If the Root shinobi found the request strange, he didn’t show it. “Sir,” he nodded before vanishing to retrieve the items.

The Akatsuki would soon be dealt with, but first, they would help him deal with Shiori.