The sun beat down on the streets of Konoha with the gentle persistence of a ninja trying to sneak into a heavily fortified compound.
And patrolling these sun-drenched streets was none other than Azula, Princess of the Uchiha, Heir of a bloody clan, and… part-time patrol officer of the Konoha Military Police Force.
Yes, you read that correctly. The same girl who could summon lightning with a flick of her wrist was now writing tickets for people stealing chicken.
How did this happen? Well, it's simple: the Police Force is the private fiefdom of the Uchiha clan.
In the entire village, it's the one department run not by meritocracy but by genealogy and a frankly alarming number of Sharingan-related staring contests.
And while she hadn't officially graduated from the academy, rules tend to bend when the clan patriarch's terrifyingly brilliant daughter decides she wants a badge.
One of her primary motivations was the sheer, mind-numbing incompetence she'd witnessed.
While her shadow clones were handling the mountains of paperwork at the Tribunal, she'd seen complaint after complaint against the Police Force.
After a thorough, statistically significant analysis, she concluded they were in the wrong a staggering 50% of the time. Fifty percent!
For Azula, a being who operated on a platform of 99.9% flawless efficiency, this was not just a failure; it was a catastrophe. An affront to order itself.
If the Uchiha were to be the undisputed sign of genius and power she knew they could be, they couldn't be known as the guys who occasionally beat up a man who was just eating noodles just because he had Ichimaru Gin's face.
So, she took control. At least once a week, she'd trade training for strolling, swapping world domination for… well, village maintenance. For three glorious hours, she would patrol. It was, surprisingly, a bizarre form of relaxation.
In a world devoid of internet, cat videos, and quality theater, watching civilians panic and straighten up as she walked by was the next best thing to streaming a good drama.
This routine had given her a thorough understanding of Konoha's layout and its people. And how to say it? Konoha was… quaint.
It was worthy of its title as the biggest ninja village, sure, but to a girl from a world of skyscrapers and satellites, it was less a 'village' and more a sprawling, moderately busy town with a concerning number of weapon shops.
It had only been four years since the last great shinobi war, a conflict so brutal that all villages lost their Kage, and it took them almost two decades to recover and start a new war.
The village was still licking its wounds, with ninja hovering around 20,000. The total population had just broken the six figures (100,000). It was, in the end, just a village. A big village, but a village nonetheless.
Because of its manageable size and her relentless patrol routes, Azula had, by now, mentally catalogued almost every resident.
The only ones she hadn't pinned down were the reclusive types who only emerged from their training grounds to grab a mission scroll before vanishing again, probably to practice their jutsu in a dark room somewhere.
Today was proceeding with its usual, orderly monotony. She was surveilling her own squad, ensuring they didn't act on their Uchiha impulses to solve a small qtzalin incident with a Grand Fireball Technique.
That's when she saw him.
Leaning against a wall near the mission building was a walking, talking puddle of pre-adolescent angst and bandages: Kakashi Hatake.
Well, to be precise, it was Sakumo Hatake, but in her head, he'd always be 'Pre-Ado-Kakashi.'
She'd spotted the silver-haired boy a few times before, a fleeting glimpse of gloom she'd promptly filed away under 'Not My Problem.' Recently, however, he'd made quite the noise by skyrocketing to Jōnin, becoming one of the youngest in the village's history.
Her sharp, black eyes scanned his condition. Half his face was bandaged, and he held his arm at a stiff, awkward angle.
She mused silently. Becoming a Jōnin at a young age wasn't just about reaching a certain level of power; it meant your power had reached a level where it was absurd you weren't already one.
So what, pray tell, could have possibly put their newest prodigy in such a state? A rogue band of paper-cut assassins? Did he lose a fight with his own summons?
Coincidentally—or more likely, because he possessed the situational awareness of a seasoned killer—he sensed her scrutinizing gaze. His one visible eye flicked up to meet hers.
A moment of recognition passed between them. And then, he did the most bizarre thing possible. He smiled. It was a tired, pained, but genuine little thing, completely at odds with the brooding aura he projected.
The truth was, Sakumo was helpless. His schedule was a nightmare of training, missions, and more training. He was taking on assignments that sometimes pushed him just past his current limits, hence the bandages.
He was already juggling more than most adult shinobi, and the Sandaime Hokage had already extended an invitation to join the ANBU. He'd only managed to delay the inevitable by requesting a year to develop his personal technique.
As he was lost in these thoughts, his single visible eye widened in surprise. Azula, with a predator's grace, had closed the distance between them. She came to a stop, her posture impeccable, her expression one of cool amusement.
"Hello, Sakumo-senpai," she said, her voice full of inquiry even if she didn't ask anything.
For a while, Sakumo felt a little awkward because he didn't know how he should address her, but then again, he was a ninja who had done escort missions. "Hello, Azula-san, it seems you are on patrol today."
After all, he didn't find an eight-year-old Uchiha on patrol strange because there were many Uchiha who graduated at this age, and most of them would join the Police Force—let alone someone as, hmm, weird as Azula.
Fortunately for him, his half-bandaged face spoke friendly, or had Azula known he was thinking of her as weird, he would have had to watch his back.
Thanks to her perception training that had already made her one of the best sensory ninja known, she could feel that his chakra was strange.
It was the strangest chakra she had ever come across, stranger than those who had Kekkei Genkai, while she was 100% sure that Sakumo didn't have a Kekkei Genkai.
Thinking about how to ask without seeming meddlesome, she spoke. "I heard that you just became a Jōnin. That's truly awesome. If you don't mind, I would like to have a spar with you when you are healed."
Her request surprised Sakumo but, more honestly, piqued his interest. "Sure, I have long wanted to see the strength of Princess Azula. It will be my honor."
...
...
...
Hiruzen Sarutobi, the Third Hokage, took a long, slow pull from his pipe, letting the smoke curl toward the ceiling of his office like his own personal storm cloud.
The ANBU agent kneeling before him remained a perfect statue, which was frankly showing off. Something Azula often wondered if they practiced in a special class: 'Advanced Poise and Dramatic Silence.'
"So," he spoke, his voice a low rumble that perfectly matched the smoke. "If I understand correctly, Jōnin Hatake Sakumo—the man who communicates more effectively with his ninken than with people—was apparently cornered by the eight-year-old Azula and seems to have a good relationship with her?"
The ANBU's mask tilted a fraction of an inch. "The interaction appeared... amiable, Hokage-sama. Though the content of their discussion remains unknown. It was the Uchiha girl who initiated the contact."
"Amiable?" Hiruzen echoed, the word tasting strange. He couldn't picture it. Sakumo was famously, almost professionally, awkward. Azula was... well, Azula.
She was what happened when you combined Uchiha pride, Senju vitality, and the terrifying intellect of Uzumaki Mito into a single, smirking child who probably still had to ask for permission to do things.
"Fascinating. You are dismissed. And please, try to have a less bewildering shift."
Once alone, Hiruzen slumped into his chair with a sigh that would have made a lesser man lightheaded. He steepled his fingers, gazing at the massive Hokage hat on its stand.
Some days it felt like a crown. Today it felt like a very expensive, very symbolic bucket he was trying to use to bail out a rapidly sinking boat named 'Current Situation.'
The 'situation,' of course, was Azula. She was graduating this year—a fact the Uchiha never considered hiding, as that would be like trying to hide a sunrise with a shuriken.
Normally, a prodigy graduating early was a cause for celebration and mildly jealous muttering. But with Azula, 'normal' had packed its bags and left the village without a forwarding destination.
She was already an honorary member of the Police Force, doing a weekly tour that he suspected was less about learning procedure and more about her conducting a long-term efficiency mission.
The Uchiha clan, in a rare moment of collective sanity, had agreed she should be a regular genin first, gain 'experience' (a concept he was sure she found quaint), and become a Chūnin next year.
His mind drifted to Tsunade's recent, grumpy evaluation.
His famously powerful student, already operating at a Chūnin level long ago, had stormed into his office, slammed a fist on his desk (splitting the wood, thank you very much), and declared, "Hmph, she didn't dare to take my punch, and I couldn't pin her down. It was like trying to fistfight a lightning bolt in a mirror maze."
Translation: an eight-year-old, without even awakening the Sharingan, could already dance circles around the average Chūnin. It was enough to make a Hokage feel profoundly mediocre about his own childhood accomplishments.
The political landscape was a different beast altogether from when he'd first donned the hat.
The clan heads weren't as easy to order around as fresh genin, but with Mito's steadfast support, he could navigate their egos—so long as he didn't accidentally suggest, say, relocating the Hyuga compound to a less fashionable part of the village.
The real puzzle was Azula's future squad leader.
Letting the Uchiha install one of their own was out of the question; that was just handing them a Tailed Beast and asking them to please be responsible.
But he couldn't just assign her to any random Jōnin. It had to be someone strong enough not to be immediately outclassed by their own student, politically neutral to avoid sparking a clan war, and brave enough not to resign on the spot upon receiving the assignment.
A Hyuga? They'd rather pluck out their own eyes. A Senju? They'd laugh in his face. Any other clan Jōnin would see the assignment not as an honor but as a high-stakes suicide mission where the primary cause of death would be 'incurring the wrath of the entire Uchiha clan if their precious scion so much as stubbed her toe.'
But Sakumo... Sakumo was different. The Hatake clan was small, insular, and operated on a baffling samurai code of honor that made them incredibly loyal and utterly predictable.
They were the opposite of the scheming, political ninja. Assigning Azula to Konoha's strongest rising star, a man renowned for his power and integrity, was a move the Uchiha would be hard-pressed to publicly oppose.
And Sakumo himself? The man was the living embodiment of the Will of Fire. He wouldn't question the order; he'd see it as his solemn duty.
He wouldn't try to manipulate Azula for clan gain; he'd probably try to teach her the proper way to polish a blade and the importance of trustworthy canine companions. He was the perfect, politically neutral, incredibly powerful blunt instrument.
It wasn't that Hiruzen distrusted Mito's upbringing. The woman was a living legend who had probably forgotten more about diplomacy and power than he would ever know.
But his old teacher, Tobirama, had drilled a single, paranoid mantra into his head: "When it comes to the Uchiha, one backup plan is no plan. You need a backup plan for your backup plan's contingency plan."
And pitting the unwavering, honorable loyalty of the White Fang against the fiery, unpredictable potential of the Uchiha heir? That wasn't just a plan. It was poetic. Now he just had to hope the poem didn't end with a lot of property damage and a very, very irritated Police Force.
(END OF THE CHAPTER)