"Breathe, Tsunade. In through the nose, out through the mouth. Preferably not through shouting," Azula drawled, not looking up from her teacup. "This is precisely why I didn't tell you. You are too loud. If not for Mito-sensei's barrier, you'd be currently telling everyone my secret."
Tsunade's roar had finally subsided into a dangerous, kettle-like simmer.
"The noise isn't the issue!" she hissed. "You've known about the future since when—?"
She cut herself off. The pieces, suddenly, were falling into place with the subtlety of a brick to the face. Azula, ever since they were snot-nosed brats, had trained with a desperation that made the average Uchiha look lazy.
She'd pursued power like it was the last dango in Konoha and she had a terminal hunger. Tsunade had just written it off as her best friend being a competitive, obsessive freak.
But this… this explained the 3 AM kenjutsu practice, the suspiciously specific paranoia, and that one time Azula had tried to invent "chakra-powered sunscreen" during a perfectly nice picnic.
The possibility that Azula was just crazy or had mistaken a bad dream for a prophecy didn't even cross Tsunade's mind. Azula's intelligence was the one thing more rock-solid than Tsunade's own punches.
"Ah, the gears are finally turning. I was worried I'd have to draw you a diagram," Azula said, a familiar, infuriating smirk gracing her lips. "Yes. The future. It's been in my head since before we met. That's the big secret. So, is it worth the training, or are you gearing up for a beating?"
"Tsk!" Tsunade's eye twitched. "You kept something this huge from me for years? What, did you think I'd run to the Hokage Tower and start blabbing? Or just that I'd accidentally spill it during a drunken darts game?"
"While I have zero faith in your ability to keep a secret quieter than a volcanic eruption," Azula said, smoothly sidestepping the accusation, "the official decree for silence came from a higher authority. Mito-sensei insisted we wait until you displayed a modicum of maturity."
She took a delicate sip of tea. "A standard you are, regrettably, still astronomically far from reaching."
She could feel Mito's gaze from the corner of the room—a quiet, profound look of maternal disappointment that could wilt flowers. Azula, with the impenetrable fortitude of someone who had once argued with a tidal wave, met it with serene innocence, as if she'd just complimented the weather.
Tsunade swiveled her betrayed glare toward her grandmother, who merely offered a slow, serene blink. She sputtered, a warship with no enemy to broadside.
"Even so, you should have—!" Tsunade began, then stalled. Should have what? Told her earlier? She'd have been twelve and probably tried to bet on the outcomes.
"You see my dilemma," Azula sighed, a master conductor watching the orchestra play itself. "My hands were tied. All I could do was subtly nudge fate away from certain… unsightly tragedies."
Defeated, Tsunade slumped. It was a familiar posture.
"Fine. You win. Again." Then, like a sunflower pivoting toward a new dawn, she leaned forward, her eyes glinting with sudden, avaricious hope. "Okay, but seriously though. The future me. How strong was I? We were obviously the most legendary duo ever, right? And our promise—to end all the stupid wars—did we do it? Tell me we did it."
This was the real question, buried under all the bluster. It was the dream of the girl who'd lost too much, who poured her soul into healing others so she'd never have to stand helplessly by a deathbed again.
Azula set her cup down with a soft click. The smirk faded into something more complex. "First, Princess. You have to understand: the future isn't a fixed script. It's more like… a suggestion written in wet sand at high tide."
She met Tsunade's eager gaze. "But let's just say the version of you I saw… had a punch that could rewrite geography. And our promise? Let's call it a work in very aggressive progress."
She leaned in, a conspiratorial glint in her eyes. "Take this very moment. Critical juncture! I just spilled my universe-hopping secrets. Now, the branching begins. In one world, you storm off and punt Nawaki into the next sunrise. In another, you sulk artistically under a tree. And in one particularly spicy timeline, you try to punch me. Spoiler: it goes poorly for you."
Azula's grin turned sharp.
"Those aren't just 'what-ifs.' They're 'what-dids'—just not here. The future I know? That's the one where I never showed up. In that snoozefest, fifty-year-old you was barely stronger than you are now, Mito-sensei never mastered the Kyūbi Chakra Mode, and Uzushiogakure…" She let the pause hang, heavy with unspoken tragedy. "…became a memory."
She'd decided not to info-dump everything on Tsunade. Even her brain would need a coffee break when you're rewriting its understanding of, well, everything. And sure enough, Tsunade's mental gears were visibly smoking, her expression glazed over.
It made a twisted sort of sense. Tsunade was a biologist of chakra and flesh; she knew the human body was a labyrinth of miracles and mysteries, and she'd barely mapped 40% of it.
That very perspective made her able to almost accept world-shattering revelations. Almost. But being hit with the existential equivalent of a brick to the face? That's how you get a short circuit.
SMACK!
A pebble, thrown with pinpoint accuracy, bounced off Tsunade's forehead.
"OW!" she yelped, rubbing the spot. Her body was famously durable, but the sheer audacity of the strike made it sting. She glared at the obvious culprit—Mito.
Mito simply nodded, her expression serene.
"Stop frying your brain. The simplified version is this: Azula peeked at a different reality. In hers, things went badly. In ours?" Mito's gaze softened with unwavering resolve. "We saved Uzushiogakure. And I am here. I will never let you fall behind. So stop looking like you've seen the ghost of futures mediocre."
The words acted like a splash of cold water. Tsunade blinked, the haze clearing from her eyes, replaced by a familiar, fiery pride. "Heh. You're right. Me, letting a brat make me cry? Impossible."
Azula smiled, a genuine one this time. Exactly. The Tsunade from the anime and this Tsunade might share a name, a face, and a legendary temper. But that was where the similarity ended. This one had a different spark—and a future that was thrillingly her own to write.
"That's right. Don't hurt yourself thinking about it," Azula said, waving a hand as if shooing a particularly slow fly. "The future is currently a first draft, and we're the editors with very, very fiery pens."
Tsunade, who had been zoning out, snapped back to reality with a scowl. "I wasn't 'dazed,' I was strategically contemplating!"
"Call it what you like," Azula shrugged, a fox-like smile playing on her lips. "But while you were 'strategically contemplating,' my plan kept moving. And it has a very exciting, starring role for you. Unless you'd prefer to be left in the dust, watching the revolution happen from a gambling table while losing all your money."
That got her. Tsunade's eye twitched, a precursor to seismic activity. "You have to explain what the hell you're talking about before I remodel this village with your face."
"Tsk! You do need a good beating later," Azula chirped, undeterred. "But our plan? For the coming war, we're not going to just fight in it. We're going to use it."
She began ticking points off on her fingers with theatrical relish.
"Without my existence? Uzushiogakure gets scraped off the map by four nations playing keep-away with their fuinjutsu. Then, they use those stolen seals to mass-produce Jinchūriki. That's worse."
Tsunade's breath hitched. Azula pressed on, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper.
"Nawaki dies. A certain gambling-loving medic loses her lover in that timeline, and it breaks her. Mito-sensei passes, making way for a future she wouldn't have chosen. And you? You end up so heartbroken and pissed at Konoha you'd rather drink than heal it."
Azula paused, letting the horrific highlight reel sink in. Then, she delivered the kicker with icy cheer.
"And your beloved sensei, the Hokage? He develops a spectacularly selective blindness. Danzō leads Orochimaru down a path so dark it needs its own lamp, and Hiruzen just... nods along. Then Danzō orchestrates a scheme leading to the annihilation of the Uchiha with only one survivor. And still, no consequences. Hiruzen Sarutobi's leadership isn't a path to peace; it's a guided tour to the village's obsolescence. Mito-sensei agrees, by the way."
Tsunade was pale, her fists clenched. Azula straightened up, her expression turning serious.
"I don't like him. I think he's a dithering man who confuses hesitation for wisdom. If he decides to be a roadblock, I will remove him. Permanently. I'm telling you this now because I'd rather you be angry before I potentially depose your mentor than after. Consider it a courtesy."
She let the nuclear option hang in the air for a moment.
"My goal isn't just to win a war. It's to end the concept of them. This fractured world is just target practice for the real enemies lurking out there. We need to unite, and we can't do that with a Hokage who thinks a stern talking-to is an adequate response to treason."
Azula sighed, the intensity fading into something almost like exhaustion. "Talk to sensei. She'll confirm the broad strokes. Think it over. But don't think too long—the future waits for no one."
And before Tsunade could summon a coherent sentence that wasn't pure rage, Azula vanished in a flash.
She reappeared in the branches of a distant tree. Her plan had been simple: win the Second War, earn god-like fame, maybe unlock the Mangekyō, and then gracefully ascend to the Hokage seat amidst universal applause.
But plans, like Hiruzen's spine, had a tendency to go soft.
She started thinking about the change, tapping her chin. Current reputation: 'Strongest Kunoichi Alive' (Mito politely excluded). Current arsenal: Sharingan, Rasengan, Chidori, Flying Raijin, and a tri-chakra mode thanks to the woman currently confused. Verdict: significantly more combat-ready than a man whose greatest recent feat is smoking a pipe thoughtfully.
'So why,' she mused, a slow, dangerous smile spreading across her face, 'am I waiting for a war to buff my resume when I could just... skip to the good part and clean house now?'
Sometimes, the smoothest path to the top was just to remove the people standing on the stairs.