Two days.
That's all it had taken for the news to snake its way across the continents and into the heart of Iwagakure. The departure of the Uchiha and Senju clans from Konoha hadn't been a quiet, diplomatic exit after all.
For the four great villages eyeing the Whirlpool Country's legendary sealing techniques, this changed everything.
What was supposed to be a swift, brutal smash-and-grab on a (relatively) isolated ally of Konoha had just turned into a potential stand-off with three of the most infamous clans in shinobi history.
Kuro, a man whose brown hair was already streaked with grey from the stress of serving the Tsuchikage, stood respectfully before the figure of Onoki.
"Onoki-sama," he began, his voice calm and measured. "With the Uchiha and the Senju now in the mix… I believe the wisest course is for Iwa to hold back. Let Kiri and Kumo make the first move. Their bloodlust is practically a physical force at this point; I'm sure they can't wait to charge in."
Onoki with his hands clasped behind his back, let out a grunt that was half-agreement, half-frustration. "You're not wrong, Kuro. But it's not just about letting them weaken each other."
He sighed, the sound weary. "If we wait, Suna will undoubtedly do the same, hiding in their dunes to see which way the wind blows. That leaves only the Mist and the Cloud to throw themselves at Uzushio's walls."
He finally descended, his sandals making a soft tap on the stone floor. "And those walls are now manned by the Uchiha, the Senju, and the Uzumaki. We're not just talking about clans. We're talking about Mito Uzumaki herself, a sealing master who could probably trap your shadow."
"We're talking about Shinki, Mugetsu, Azula, and that Senju princess, Tsunade. With that lineup? Kiri and Kumo aren't 'consuming' anyone's power. They're just going to break their teeth on it. And the whole time, Konoha is sitting right there, just a messenger hawk away from sending in the White Fang or a Sarutobi-led battalion."
For Onoki, this had never been about friendship or old grudges. It was a cold calculus of interest.
And his abacus was telling him that every day Konoha and its allies grew stronger was a day Iwa slid closer to irrelevance.
If they didn't act now, while the four villages were at least nominally united, they might never get another chance. Konoha would reach a level of power where the combined might of the other four wouldn't even be a threat.
The thought made him want to sigh again. Why was it that Konoha seemed to have a monopoly on once-in-a-generation prodigies?
His Iwa was a land of hardy, disciplined shinobi, but true, overwhelming power? The kind that could change the outcome of a war single-handedly? It was a desert.
He barely had three Kage-level shinobi he could truly count on, and their two Tailed Beasts were less weapons and more walking, ticking time bombs.
Kuro remained silent, watching his Kage. In Iwa, Onoki's word was law. Once he had explained his reasoning, the discussion was over.
And frankly, after hearing it laid out so plainly, Kuro felt the same cold certainty settle in his gut. Waiting was the slow path to defeat.
His silent acceptance pleased Onoki. This was how a subordinate should be—loyal, understanding, and ready to execute.
"Good," Onoki stated, his voice regaining its sharp edge. "So, we commit. But we commit smartly. Iwa will provide the bulk of the low-level ninja and the supplies. Let the Mizukage have his 'honor' and lead the charge, so long as he provides the high-level Jonin and the Kage-level muscle needed to pin down Uzushio's heavy hitters."
A shrewd, calculating glint entered the old man's eyes. "Our public price for this investment? A single, specific sealing technique. One that would allow our Jinchuriki to master their beast, to transform at will without the constant fear of losing control. That is our official demand."
But Onoki was no fool, and he didn't believe in the magnanimity of allies for a second. Alliances in the shinobi world were written on water, easily disturbed and quick to vanish.
"Beyond that," he continued, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial murmur, "we hold back. We keep a few trump cards in reserve. Assets that no one knows about. Because when the dust settles and the betrayals inevitably begin, Iwa will not be the one left empty-handed."
He didn't need to elaborate. An understanding smile touched Kuro's lips. That was more like it. Trust was a luxury they couldn't afford. In a world where a handshake could hide a poisoned kunai, the only thing you could truly rely on was your own hidden ace in the hole.
...
...
...
The shinobi world was filled with tension so thick you could practically chew on it. Every nation was recalling its ninja, stockpiling supplies like there was no tomorrow, and massing troops along their borders.
At this point, you didn't need a genius-level intellect or a fancy bloodline limit to figure it out; even the guy selling dango in the village square knew war was a when, not an if.
But you know what they say—one man's looming global catastrophe is another man's party. While most folks were sweating Kunai, a certain subset of shadowy figures was absolutely thriving on the chaos. In fact, they'd baked this particular cake themselves.
The ringleader of this whole mess was a patch of living darkness, clinging to the high ceiling of a cave and observing a frail man hooked up to what looked like a giant, organic IV drip.
He was the definition of patience, a spectator waiting for the perfect moment to step onto the stage. This was Black Zetsu.
A being so ancient he'd watched the Uchiha and Senju clans' family trees sprout from acorns. There were maybe six entities in the entire world who knew its hidden history and dirty secrets as well as he did.
And it was precisely that mountain of ancient knowledge that had given him a deep, bone-level respect—okay, fine, a straight-up phobia—of fuinjutsu, Sealing Techniques.
When your own mother, the legendary Kaguya, is currently spending eternity trapped as a decorative ornament on the moon thanks to a particularly powerful seal, you develop a healthy paranoia.
Freeing her was his entire life's work, his reason for existence.
Over the centuries, he'd made it his business to study seals, and the more he learned, the more they terrified him.
It was the ultimate equalizer. It didn't matter if you were the Sage of Six Paths reborn; a perfectly executed seal could stuff you in a box forever.
So, when he noticed the great villages struggling to control their tailed beasts—he saw a golden opportunity.
He became a master of whispers, a subtle fan to the embers of their frustration.
"You know," his manipulations seemed to suggest, "the Uzumaki clan over in Uzushiogakure… they're the real experts when it comes to bindings and cages."
It wasn't even a lie! That was the beautiful part. He was just... highlighting a solution.
With a nudge here and a planted rumor there, the situation snowballed perfectly. Now, four of the five great shinobi villages were eyeing the Land of Whirlpools with a hungry, predatory gaze.
The Uzumaki, with their terrifying sealing prowess and that vibrant red hair, had gone from respected allies to a primary target, seemingly on the brink of extermination.
Watching from the shadows, Zetsu felt a twinge of impatience.
"Hmph. It seems the kindling isn't quite dry enough," he mused, his form undulating slightly. "But then, humans are so predictable. Show them a little profit, whisper a promise of power, and they'll march right off a cliff for you."
He wasn't overly worried, though. His main focus, his pet project, was right here in this cave: Madara Uchiha. Just thinking about it sent a thrill through his inky form.
After centuries of waiting, of manipulating countless pawns, someone had finally done it. Someone had awakened the Rinnegan, the sacred eyes that could freed his mother.
From Zetsu's perspective, the path to his mother's prison was no longer a dream; it was a paved road, and he was watching the final construction crew put on the finishing touches.
All he had to do was be patient and make sure the driver—a notoriously grumpy and powerful Uchiha—stayed on course.
The only tricky part was his grand entrance. Popping out of the ground right now with a cheerful, "Hello, I'm an ancient entity here to guide your destiny!" was a surefire way to get himself used as a test dummy for Madara to practice his new god-like ocular powers on.
No, thank you.
He needed Madara to explore the Rinnegan's abilities himself, to grow comfortable with its power. Zetsu would wait, a spider in the darkest corner of the web, for the perfect, most vulnerable moment to make his approach.
That opportunity could come at any second. Which is why every single ounce of his ancient, twisted attention was focused, unblinking, on the old man in the cave.
(END OF THE CHAPTER)
Adding some tension but a little bit short, see you next time with definitely with more than 2.000 words chapter.