The Hokage Building conference room was empty. Just three men in the cavernous space.
Shikaku Nara. Danzō Shimura. And Hiruzen Sarutobi—retired, supposedly powerless, but very much present.
No aides. No guards. Not even Amemiya, their Takigakure ally.
This meeting didn't exist.
Danzō had come because Shikaku promised him a "secret battle plan." The kid had been useful lately—deflecting Amemiya's challenges, making Danzō look competent in front of the troops. Worth cultivating. And Danzō had always been a sucker for the word secret.
So he'd dismissed his entourage and walked in alone.
Then he saw Hiruzen.
Danzō's hand went to his kunai pouch. "What the hell is this?"
"Relax." Hiruzen's voice was flat. "I'm not here to eat you."
Danzō's eyes narrowed. Shifted to Shikaku. "You set me up."
"No setup." Shikaku's tone was maddeningly calm. "I told you I had a secret plan. I do. But every time we discuss strategy in the war room, it's twenty people shouting over each other. Intel leaks. Decisions get second-guessed." He met Danzō's glare. "I needed a private conversation. So here we are."
"With him?" Danzō jabbed a finger at Hiruzen.
"Danzō Shimura." Hiruzen's voice cracked like a whip. "Are you seriously doing this right now?"
"We're on the brink of annihilation," Hiruzen continued, voice low and dangerous. "Moon Lake was your disaster. Lishi Fortress was mine. We've bled Konoha dry. And you're still playing politics?"
The room went silent.
Hiruzen stepped forward. "We're both Tobirama's students. Both inheritors of the Will of Fire. This next battle decides whether Konoha survives. If we lose—" His jaw tightened. "—there's no Konoha left to argue over. So whatever grudge you're nursing? Swallow it. Now."
Danzō stared at him. The authority in Hiruzen's voice hadn't faded with retirement. If anything, it had sharpened—stripped of pretense, honed to a blade.
Finally, Danzō exhaled. "Fine. Talk."
Hiruzen nodded. "Yuexi Peninsula is a trap."
Danzō blinked. "What?"
"Jinghang's baiting us." Hiruzen's tone was matter-of-fact. "The Takigakure assault. The troop rotation. The intelligence about their 'main force' being inland. It's all theater."
"You think he's lying about his numbers."
"I know he is." Hiruzen tapped the table. "Thirty thousand shinobi. Ten thousand sent to Taki—easy pickings, minimal resistance. That leaves twenty thousand. And where do you think they are?"
Danzō's face went pale. "Waiting in the desert."
"Exactly." Hiruzen's smile was grim. "You march twelve thousand troops into Yuexi, and Jinghang's twenty thousand hit you from the sand. No escape. No reinforcements. Just a slaughter."
"The troop rotation—"
"Was bullshit." Hiruzen's voice was sharp. "You're in intelligence, Danzō. Would you rotate your best troops to the rear right before a decisive battle? Or would you say you did, feed that lie to enemy scouts, and keep your veterans exactly where they need to be?"
Danzō was silent.
"He played you," Hiruzen said quietly. "And you were about to walk twenty thousand of our people into a meat grinder."
"Then why—" Danzō turned to Shikaku. "—did you tell me to attack anyway?"
Shikaku's expression didn't change. "Because a trap you know about isn't a trap anymore. It's an opportunity."
Danzō stared. Then slowly smiled. "You want to spring it."
"Exactly." Shikaku moved to the sand table, fingers tracing routes across the miniature desert. "Jinghang's plan is simple. Let us march deep into the wasteland. Then use sand ships to cut us off—classic bandit tactics. Fast. Brutal. Effective."
"So how do we counter it?"
"Two steps." Shikaku reached into his vest, pulled out a small concrete object. Shaped like a caltrop, but heavier. Meaner.
"Anti-landing stake," he said. "Naval design. We've adapted it for desert use. The real ones are a hundred times this size—each one weighs half a ton. Arrange them in a line, and no sand ship—no matter how big—can break through."
Danzō picked it up. Turned it over. "Cost?"
"Negligible. We've already made two thousand. All sealed in storage scrolls." Shikaku's voice was clinical. "If Jinghang's ships appear, we deploy instantly. Ten-kilometer barrier in under a minute. His ambush becomes our killzone."
Danzō set the model down. "And step two?"
"Formation." Shikaku grabbed a handful of flags from the sand table. "Right now, we've got twenty columns—mixed Konoha and Taki forces. Eleven and a half ours, eight and a half theirs. I want to split them. Front group: eight columns. Rear group: twelve columns. Two kilometers between them."
"Flexibility." Shikaku's eyes gleamed. "If Jinghang hits the front group, the rear has time to react. Deploy the barriers. Flank his forces. We turn his ambush into a pincer." He met Danzō's gaze. "With our combat strength, I calculate sixty percent odds of victory."
Danzō frowned. "Sixty? Their top-tier fighters—Jinghang, the Third Raikage, the Earthly Branches—they outclass us."
"In individual power? Yes." Shikaku nodded. "But we have two jinchūriki. Takigakure's Fumito is near-perfect control of the Seven-Tails. Rin's mastered the Three-Tails since her return from Kiri—Elder Koharu confirmed it. Two tailed beasts in open desert?" He smiled coldly. "That's our equalizer."
"And I'll be there."
Both men turned. Hiruzen's voice was quiet. Certain.
Danzō's eye narrowed. "You—"
"I'm going." Hiruzen's tone left no room for argument. "Secretly. No command authority. You're still the Fourth Hokage. I'm just an old man with a stick." His gaze was steady. "But you can't match Jinghang in single combat. You know it. I know it. So I'll handle him. You handle the battle."
Danzō's jaw worked. Finally, he nodded. "Fine."
"One more thing." Hiruzen's voice dropped. "Secrecy is critical. I've suspected for months that Jinghang has Heavenly Stems agents in our leadership. This plan—" He looked between them. "—stays with the old clans. Established families only. No one else."
"Understood." Danzō straightened. "I'll—"
He stopped. Blinked.
Wait. Who's giving orders here?
Hiruzen's smile was faint. Knowing.
"Dismissed, Hokage."
Danzō left without another word.
When the door closed, Shikaku glanced at Hiruzen. "Think he'll follow through?"
"He will." Hiruzen's voice was tired. "Danzō's many things. But he's not suicidal. And he knows—deep down—that this is Konoha's last chance."
Shikaku nodded. Turned back to the sand table.
Sixty percent odds.
In war, that was practically a guarantee.
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