Night had fallen, and darkness blanketed Konohagakure.
The street lamps had yet to flicker on, leaving the village in one of its rare, fleeting moments of true darkness.
Deep beneath the village, in one of its hidden chambers, Danzō spoke with a middle-aged man cloaked in shadow.
"Well done," Danzō said coldly. "With this, Arata Itsuki is as good as dead."
The man took a slow drag from his pipe, frowning.
"He's just a tokubetsu jōnin," the man said. "Do we really need to go this far? The boy's clean, no background ties—hardworking, even. He could've been a fine talent."
Danzō snorted in disdain.
"Talent? Without a bloodline, he'll never rise above tokubetsu jōnin. What's there to pity in the death of a pawn?"
The man sighed, his gaze distant.
"Let's hope it's worth it."
Danzō's expression twisted into a scowl.
"Don't act so sanctimonious. You didn't flinch when we culled the Senju, and every one of them was a 'fine talent,' weren't they?"
The man froze for a moment, the memories flashing in his eyes. When he finally spoke again, his voice was low and heavy.
"For Konoha's stability, the Senju clan had to be erased. No village could endure a behemoth like that forever."
For once, Danzō didn't retort. Instead, a rare glint of apprehension flickered across his face.
"Three Kage-level shinobi in one clan," he murmured. "If they weren't destroyed, no other family would ever have a chance at the Hokage's seat."
The man exhaled softly.
"What's done is done. It wasn't just our choice back then—it was the will of every major clan in Konoha."
Danzō said nothing. On that point, at least, they were in agreement.
The man rose from his seat and turned to leave.
"I'm going ahead," he said, his tone cold. "Make sure you handle this cleanly."
With that, he donned his long white robe and conical hat, and walked out of the dim chamber.
On the back of the robe, five bold characters gleamed faintly under the torchlight:
Third Hokage of Konoha.
As the figure disappeared into the tunnel, Danzō's eyes lingered on those words, burning with greed and longing.
Just like that—calmly, wordlessly—the Third Hokage and Danzō had decided Arata Itsuki's fate.
To men who wielded the highest power in the village, one tokubetsu jōnin was nothing more than an insect—crushed at their convenience.
---
The scene shifted back to Arata.
His mission was to reinforce the front lines near the Land of Wind's border. The order had stressed urgency—he was to arrive as quickly as possible.
But Arata wasn't in a rush. From the moment he received the assignment, he'd sensed something was off.
He knew better than to charge blindly into a trap.
So, instead of hurrying, he spent the journey testing and familiarizing himself with his new Thunder Fruit abilities.
After all, mastering raw power wasn't something that happened overnight. Even with Garp's combat knowledge as his guide, it would take practice to make that strength his own.
If he wanted to get stronger quickly, his best path forward was to further develop his lightning powers.
If I can push my voltage output to ten million volts…
Then even a Kage would have to take me seriously.
The power of thunder had drastically increased his speed, reducing his reliance on chakra-draining movement jutsus like the Body Flicker. It was a direct and massive boost to his overall combat ability.
Beyond that, he also began experimenting with Observation Haki—or, as Garp called it, "Kenbunshoku."
With Garp's experience as a foundation and the Thunder Fruit's natural amplification of sensory range, Arata progressed astonishingly fast.
After just half a day of training, his perception radius had expanded to nearly a kilometer.
In the world of ninja, that kind of sensory power rivaled even the Byakugan.
"So this is the power of the Thunder Fruit," he murmured. "Electric wave detection combined with Kenbunshoku… It's like having a full map of my surroundings."
He smiled, impressed—and continued on his way.
By his estimation, he would reach the front lines before dawn.
Still, he was careful. He hadn't yet traveled far from Konoha.
Even if Danzō wanted him dead, he figured they wouldn't move this quickly.
Killing him here, deep in the Land of Fire, would be too obvious—too hard to explain away.
Even the Sunagakure's elite troops couldn't have infiltrated this deep without notice.
As dawn began to edge over the horizon, Arata finally spotted the patrol base in the distance.
After traveling all night, he sat down by the roadside to rest, pulling out a canteen to take a sip of water.
But just as the liquid touched his lips—
Crack!
A shower of sparks erupted beneath his feet.
A heartbeat later—
BOOM!
The explosion ripped through the clearing, engulfing the spot where Arata had been sitting in a blinding inferno.
It was a trap. A web of explosive tags.
And judging by the sheer scale of the blast, they'd used dozens of them.
Even an elite jōnin hit directly by that explosion would've been half-dead, if not completely vaporized.
From the shadows, four masked figures emerged.
They wore black combat gear, hoods pulled low, and masks with unique patterns—not unlike those used by the ANBU.
Without hesitation, all four launched simultaneous attacks toward the smoking crater.
"Fire Style: Dragon Flame!"
"Lightning Style: Thunder Tiger!"
The combined force of their jutsu shattered the ground, amplifying the destruction even further.
These weren't ordinary assassins.
Each of them carried the chakra and precision of a full-fledged jōnin.
When the dust settled, all that remained within the blast zone was a charred crater—
and what looked like a burnt corpse lying motionless at the center.
One of the masked shinobi snorted.
"Seriously? All this for one tokubetsu jōnin? What a waste of effort."
Another chuckled, nodding.
"Looks like he's dead for sure. Guess he wasn't as sharp as the reports said."
The leader, however, wasn't so sure. His voice was cold and measured—the same voice that had once spoken to Danzō in the Hokage's meeting room.
"Don't drop your guard. Not until the kill is confirmed."
He stepped closer, approaching the smoldering "corpse."
But as he knelt down, his expression changed.
There was no stench of burned flesh—
no sign of blood.
"Wait… this isn't right."
His eyes widened.
"Everyone, on guard! He's not dead—!"
He didn't get to finish.
A blinding flash of blue light tore through the air, accompanied by a deafening roar of thunder.
CRACK—BOOOOM!
A figure appeared behind them, dark and wreathed in lightning.
The first to speak earlier froze—his eyes dropped down slowly…
to the short blade piercing straight through his chest.
The sword hummed with power, arcs of blue electricity crackling along its edge.
None of the others had even seen it happen.
Four jōnin—and not one had reacted in time.
The dying man gasped, disbelief twisting his face.
"How… how is this… possible…"
Arata stood behind him, lightning surging across his body, eyes sharp and cold as steel.
His once-lazy expression was gone—replaced by killing intent that seemed to shake the very air.
He pulled the blade free, sparks leaping from the wound.
"10 Million Volts—Vari!"
Lightning exploded outward, tearing through the forest as Arata became one with the storm.