The darkness in Kanzō Tokudaiji's chamber
felt alive.
Not like silence — but like something that listened back.
The candlelight had died out long ago, leaving only the moon's silver tongue to brush the room through the thin shōji screens. Kanzō sat rigidly upright in his futon, robe clutched tight against his chest.
The air carried the faint scent of ink and cold sweat.
Before him, the masked man stood — utterly still, as if carved from the shadow itself. His cloak absorbed the light. His mask caught the moon and reflected nothing. The presence that surrounded him was quiet… yet filled every corner of the chamber.
The sealed scroll rested on Kanzō's lap, heavy with the weight of treason. His heart trembled, caught between disbelief and dread.
Finally, he broke the silence.
"You said…" His voice cracked. "You said you would tell me the truth. The truth of how my Daimyō's cousin — the Lightning Daimyō — died."
The masked man gave a single nod.
"Yes."
Kanzō swallowed, his throat dry. "Then speak."
---
The Poison of Thrones
The masked man did not clear his throat, did not falter.
"The Lightning Daimyō was killed," he said plainly, "by his first wife."
The words fell like stones into water.
No hesitation.
No flourish.
Just cold, irrevocable truth.
Kanzō's body stiffened. The air in his lungs burned.
"You're lying," he whispered, though even he didn't believe the denial.
"No," said the masked man, his tone unshaken. "Her faction within the Lightning Court has grown powerful. They saw the Daimyō's favor shifting toward his second wife and her children. They saw his mind turn from conquest toward diplomacy — from blade to peace. They feared it would weaken their influence."
"So they removed him?" Kanzō asked, disbelief cracking his voice.
"Yes."
The masked figure stepped forward, the sound of his sandal barely audible against the tatami. He placed a second scroll on the floor — its wax seal stamped with the intricate sigil of the Minister of Rituals of the Lightning Court.
Kanzō stared at it. The seal alone was enough to make him tremble. Forging such a thing was impossible — the chakra-infused ink could only be crafted within the Lightning Daimyō's court itself.
"How," Kanzō whispered, his voice barely holding. "How was he killed?"
"Slowly," said the masked shinobi. "Through a poison brewed from blood orchids. It imitates heart failure, strikes quietly, leaves no trace in the blood once the chakra disperses. The retainer who administered it was loyal to her faction — a servant she's had since childhood."
Kanzō's hands trembled on his lap.
He thought of the Fire Daimyō — his lord, his friend — and the warmth in his voice when he spoke of his "brother" from the Land of Lightning.
"The Fire Daimyō will be devastated," Kanzō whispered.
"Yes," the masked figure said softly. "He believed his cousin to be a brother."
The silence that followed was suffocating.
Then, Kanzō looked up.
"You said earlier — that the same woman orchestrated the kidnapping of the Hagoromo heir."
"Yes," the masked figure confirmed. "Her reach extends even here. The plan was designed to shatter the alliance between the Hagoromo and the Land of Fire. To frame your Daimyō for the crime. To drive the Hagoromo into the arms of the Lightning nobles. But the plan failed — because of one person."
Kanzō hesitated. "The Uchiha boy… Keiji."
The masked man's head inclined slightly. "Yes. He saved Daiki Hagoromo and handed over the bounty hunters responsible. His actions forged a new alliance — Uchiha and Hagoromo. That alliance threatens the very plan her faction spent years weaving."
Kanzō's heart pounded.
It made sense now — the whispers, the tension among the daimyō, the strange movements of the Lightning envoys. All threads led to the same poisoned root.
---
The Clan in the Storm
Kanzō exhaled slowly. "You mentioned another matter… the second wife's clan."
The masked shinobi nodded. "The Chinoike Clan."
Kanzō froze. His fingers went cold.
That name had not been spoken in the Fire Capital for decades. A clan whispered about in records of blood and terror. A clan with eyes said to shine crimson as a wound — eyes that could control blood itself.
"Their kekkei genkai," the advisor murmured, half to himself.
"The Ketsuryūgan."
The masked man's tone was low, calm, measured.
"Their eyes can ensnare minds with genjutsu equal in potency to the Sharingan. Their chakra can control iron in the blood. The first wife fears them — not only for their power, but because the second wife's children inherited the Ketsuryūgan. The first wife intends to frame them for their father's death, declare the clan traitors, and erase them from history."
Kanzō's stomach twisted. "You mean to say… she plans to purge them?"
"Yes. Once accused, they will flee. The Lightning Daimyō's court will hunt them to extinction."
The masked shinobi's tone deepened. "That is why I am here."
Kanzō blinked. "You want the Land of Fire to shelter them."
"Yes."
"That's madness," Kanzō breathed. "If we intervene, she will claim interference. The Lightning nobles will call for blood."
The masked figure gave a slow nod. "They will. Unless your Daimyō reveals the truth first."
He gestured toward the scrolls on the floor.
"Use these. Reveal her crimes before she can rewrite the story. Turn the moral blade. Protect the innocent — and turn her aggression into her downfall."
Kanzō stared at the documents. One held proof of murder. The other, proof of conspiracy. Both enough to ignite or prevent war.
And in this moment, the advisor realized: the man before him wasn't asking. He was guiding.
---
The Advisor's Test
"Why me?" Kanzō whispered. His fingers clutched the scroll, knuckles white. "Why bring this to me? I am but an advisor."
The masked man's answer was quiet — yet cut sharper than steel.
"Because you are loyal."
Kanzō blinked.
"Not to gold. Not to influence. But to your Daimyō himself. You are predictable. And loyalty that is predictable is the most stable foundation upon which to build trust."
A faint scoff escaped Kanzō's lips. "Predictability as virtue. I have never heard it praised so poetically."
The masked man did not laugh. Instead, he continued:
"There is another reason."
Kanzō's breath stilled.
"This path, if you walk it well, will raise you beyond any noble title. If you guide your Daimyō through this revelation, if you steady his grief into action — he will see you not merely as an advisor, but as family."
Kanzō's heart skipped a beat.
Family — in the Daimyō's household — was not just an honor. It was power, permanence, and trust beyond any rank.
The masked figure's tone softened slightly.
"This is your opportunity to become more than a servant of the throne. You could become its conscience."
The room felt heavier again, filled with something more suffocating than fear — hope.
Kanzō exhaled shakily. "You speak like a prophet, not an assassin."
The masked man stepped back.
"A prophet seeks belief. I seek results."
The masked man turned toward the paper screen where moonlight seeped through.
"When you deliver this truth, do not do so before the council. Do it in private. Let your Daimyō grieve in solitude. Speak as a man to a man — not as a subject to his lord. The pain will open the path for trust."
Kanzō nodded. "Then the Chinoike Clan?"
"When the wound is fresh, speak of mercy," the masked shinobi said. "Remind him what his cousin stood for — loyalty between brothers. Make him see that honoring that memory means saving the innocent and preventing another tragedy. Offer the Chinoike Clan a chance to protect his cousin's bloodline through action, not words."
The logic was cruel in its brilliance.
Turn mourning into diplomacy.
Turn pain into purpose.
Turn the Fire Daimyō's grief into a weapon of unity.
Kanzō bowed his head, breath shallow. "I understand."
"Good."
The masked man moved toward the doorway. His figure seemed to blur — as though even the moon refused to touch him directly.
"Your Daimyō will grieve," he said quietly. "Guide him through it. Then act. Timing is everything."
Kanzō's voice trembled as he lifted his gaze.
"Who are you?"
The figure paused.
"Just a shadow," he said softly. "One that remembers its light."
---
The Bargain of Shadows
But Kanzō wasn't done. As the masked man turned to leave, the advisor called out,
"Wait."
The masked figure halted.
Kanzō's voice steadied. "You've given me truths that could reshape nations. I need a way to reach you again — for the sage of six paths sake. What name should I call you by?"
The masked man turned his head slightly. In the silence that followed, Kanzō felt the air itself lean in to listen.
"My name," he said at last, "is Tobi."
"Tobi…" Kanzō repeated, committing it to memory. "And how do I contact you?"
The masked shinobi's answer came calmly, almost conversationally.
"When the time comes, go to the black market. Place a false bounty on the name Tobi — under your own. When that bounty appears, I will come."
Kanzō blinked. "You would risk—?"
The masked man's tone left no room for doubt. "You are not the only one who values loyalty."
He turned fully now, facing the moonlight. "When the Chinoike clan arrive in the Land of Fire, arrange a meeting — you, me, and their clan head. Secrecy is survival. Let no one else know of this."
Kanzō nodded, a trembling nod filled with awe and fear.
The masked man — Tobi — stepped out through the paper door. His cloak fluttered once, his footsteps utterly silent.
Kanzō sat motionless, staring at the moonlit doorway, the two scrolls resting before him.
He had just become the keeper of a truth that could break empires.
His hands shook, clutching the evidence tight to his chest.
Not from terror.
But from the knowledge that destiny had chosen him.
---
The Ghost Departs
Outside, the night breeze whispered through the plum blossoms.
Tobi — or rather, Keiji Uchiha — stood upon the roof tiles, the wind brushing his cloak. His shiny Gengar shimmered into form beside him, its wide grin dimmed by solemn understanding.
Neither spoke.
The city beneath them was asleep, unaware that history had just been rewritten in one quiet room.
The Ghost of the Capital looked once toward the distant glow of the Fire Palace, then toward the horizon beyond.
"Let's go home," Keiji murmured.
Gengar nodded silently, its shadowy body melting into the darkness.
Together, they vanished into the night — leaving behind a city that would soon wake to a new age of whispers, secrets, and choices born under the mask of the ghost.
As Keiji and Gengar cross the outer forest roads, Gengar murmurs softly from the shadows,
"Are you sure he can handle it?"
Keiji's voice, calm yet distant, replies through the mask,
"No one can handle truth. They can only act upon it."
Then his form flickers — and the night swallows him whole.
---
End of the Chapter
---