Root Headquarters – Danzo's Office
The scroll lay open on the desk—Clarke Kent: The Council of Truth—neatly unfolded on polished wood. Danzo's bandaged fingers hovered just above the page, not touching it, as if the ink might burn.
Lines had been marked. Underlined. Circled.
"Managed truth isn't truth. It's control."
"If peace needs masks and secrets to survive…"
"You're either with us—or in our way."
Across the room, a Root operative knelt, silent as stone. A second stood beside the candle, feeding sensor data into a crystal orb.
"Distribution is up," the kneeling one finally said. "Over 1,200 copies sold this week. Even the academy instructors are reading it."
Danzo's one visible eye narrowed.
"And the civilians?"
"Chunin and genin are quoting Clarke Kent in the street. Some are treating him like a real shinobi. A hero. There's talk of a fan meet-up forming behind the bookstore."
Danzo slowly folded the scroll. Precision. Control. Silence.
He walked to a nearby cabinet, opened it, and retrieved a folder—Project: Specter. Inside were surveillance images. Not of Oliver. Not this time.
Academy students. Market vendors. Retired shinobi. Even a few jōnin.
All gathered around manga panels.
Danzo laid the folder on the table.
"He doesn't need a stage," Danzo muttered. "He's already building a theatre."
The Operative Spoke Again
"He's doing what we used to do."
Danzo turned.
"No. We worked in shadows to shape the future. He's dragging the future into the light and calling it truth."
"Should we silence him?"
Danzo shook his head.
"No. We listen."
He picked up the scroll again and held it to the candlelight. The panel where Clarke defied the Council glowed in the flame's shimmer.
"Let him believe he's winning. Let the crowd roar. The higher he climbs…"
Danzo crushed the edge of the scroll slightly between his fingers.
"…the farther he falls."
Elsewhere – Daytime, Konoha Streets
Oliver walked through the streets near the Academy, cloak loose, hood down. A familiar buzz trailed him. Whispers. Laughter. Even excitement.
A girl ran past him holding a sketchbook. "I drew Clarke fighting the masked guy!"
A boy chased after. "I wrote a whole jutsu based on his 'Instinct Flash' move!"
Oliver blinked. They're not just reading it—they're building on it.
Iruka passed him on the road and gave him a small, knowing nod.
"Your last chapter hit something," he said. "Half the class turned their essays into manifestos."
"That bad?" Oliver asked with a nervous smile.
"That good," Iruka replied, more serious now. "But keep one eye open. You're not just writing a manga anymore. You're shifting ideology."
That Night – Oliver's Apartment
He stared at the blank page again.
The fire crackled. He could almost hear Danzo's voice behind the silence.
"Let the boy draw his lines in ink…"
Oliver dipped his brush and scrawled the next chapter title across the top of the page:
"The Tyrant of Silence."
Root – Sub-Level Archives
A separate, deeper chamber.
Here, the oldest operatives met. Silent even among themselves.
A captain stepped forward, handed Danzo a worn scroll—an old prophecy fragment, marked by the former elders.
"When the boy with two names draws truth in ink, the shadows must bleed or bend."
Danzo stared at it for a long time.
"He thinks he's the author."
He handed the scroll back.
"But every story needs an editor."