Danzo Shimura had survived three wars, countless assassination attempts, and decades of operating in the shadows of a village that never appreciated his sacrifices.
He had not survived this long by being cautious.
He had survived by being decisive. By eliminating threats before they could mature. By taking actions that others considered unthinkable because he understood what those others refused to accept.
The strong did what they could.
The weak suffered what they must.
And Uzumaki Naruto—along with the seven transformed abominations surrounding him—was a threat that could not be allowed to grow any stronger.
ROOT headquarters hummed with activity.
Forty-seven operatives assembled in the briefing chamber, their emotionless faces reflecting years of conditioning designed to strip away individuality and create perfect weapons. They knelt in perfect rows, awaiting their master's commands.
Danzo stood before them, his bandaged arm hidden beneath his robes, his single visible eye burning with cold purpose.
"The mission is simple," he declared. "Uzumaki Naruto is to be captured and brought to me alive. The women surrounding him are to be eliminated. All of them. No survivors, no witnesses, no evidence."
"Shimura-sama." One operative—a captain, judging by the subtle variations in his mask—spoke without raising his head. "Intelligence suggests these women possess capabilities beyond standard kunoichi parameters. The Uchiha alone has demonstrated jonin-level combat ability."
"Which is why you will strike simultaneously from multiple angles. They cannot defend against attacks they don't see coming. They cannot protect the boy if they're already dead."
"And the jinchuuriki himself?"
"Suppress his chakra immediately upon engagement. The seals I've provided—" he gestured to the specialized tags being distributed among the operatives, "—will neutralize the Kyuubi's influence and render him manageable."
"The Hokage—"
"Is a sentimental fool who has lost the will to protect this village." Danzo's voice carried contempt that decades of political maneuvering hadn't dulled. "When I present him with a controlled jinchuuriki and evidence that the transformed women were enemy infiltrators, he will have no choice but to accept the new reality."
The operatives remained silent, accepting their orders without question.
That was what they were trained to do.
"Move out. Strike at midnight, when their guard is lowest. And remember—failure is not an option. For any of you."
Forty-seven shadows dispersed into the darkness.
Danzo watched them go with satisfaction.
By morning, the threat would be contained.
By morning, he would control the most powerful weapon Konoha had ever produced.
By morning, everything would be different.
He was right about that last part.
Just not in the way he expected.
Naruto's apartment had become something else entirely.
The small, sparse living space had been transformed over the past weeks—walls knocked down to connect with adjacent units (the previous tenants having mysteriously relocated), furniture replaced with items more suited to accommodating eight bodies in constant proximity.
The bed alone took up most of what had been the original apartment—a massive custom construction that allowed all seven women to sleep surrounding Naruto in their preferred positions.
At 11:47 PM, that bed was occupied.
Naruto lay at the center, his eyes closed in something approaching actual sleep. Around him, seven transformed figures pressed close—Anko behind him, his head pillowed against her massive chest; Sakura and Satsuki flanking his sides; Ino, Hinata, Tenten, and Temari arranged in layers that ensured constant contact.
They looked peaceful.
They were not.
"Seventeen signatures approaching from the northeast," Hinata murmured, her Byakugan active despite her apparently relaxed posture. "Twenty-three from the southwest. Seven from above."
"ROOT." Anko's voice carried no surprise. "Danzo finally made his move."
"Took him long enough," Satsuki agreed, her Sharingan spinning to life beneath closed eyelids. "I expected this two days ago."
"Should we wake Naruto-kun?" Sakura asked.
"No." Anko's arms tightened around their shared focus. "He's actually sleeping. Actually resting. We're not disturbing that for trash like ROOT."
"Agreed," the others chorused quietly.
"Formation Seven," Ino said. "Contain and eliminate. No survivors."
"Obviously."
They moved.
The first ROOT operative died without knowing he was under attack.
One moment, he was approaching the target building through a carefully planned infiltration route. The next, Tenten's wire wrapped around his throat and pulled so hard his head separated from his body before he could activate any alerts.
His partner suffered a similar fate—Temari's wind slicing through him with surgical precision, the technique so refined that the blood spray was directed away from any surface that might later require cleaning.
Two down.
Forty-five to go.
The northeast team was the largest, consisting of seventeen operatives including two with specialized sensor capabilities. They moved in perfect coordination, their years of training allowing them to communicate through gestures alone.
They never reached the building.
Sakura met them in the street.
She stood alone, her transformed figure illuminated by distant streetlamps, her green eyes flat with killing intent that pressed against the operatives like a physical weight.
"You shouldn't have come," she said simply.
The captain signaled the attack.
Seventeen operatives launched themselves at her simultaneously—kunai, jutsu, taijutsu, everything in their considerable arsenal unleashed in a coordinated assault that should have overwhelmed any single target.
Sakura smiled.
Her fist hit the ground.
The street exploded.
Not metaphorically—literally exploded. The stone surface shattered upward in a cone of devastation that caught the airborne operatives mid-assault, fragments of rock and earth tearing through their formation like shrapnel.
Those who survived the initial impact found themselves facing something worse.
Sakura moved through them like death incarnate. Each punch caved in a ribcage. Each kick shattered a spine. Each movement was precisely calculated to inflict maximum damage with minimum effort.
In less than thirty seconds, seventeen bodies lay scattered across the destroyed street.
None of them were breathing.
Sakura examined herself briefly—a few bloodstains on her clothes, nothing more—and turned back toward the apartment.
"Northeast clear," she murmured, knowing the others would hear.
The southwest team fared no better.
They encountered Satsuki, Ino, and Hinata working in perfect coordination—a trinity of destruction that left no room for survival.
Satsuki's flames created walls of fire that corralled the operatives into killing zones. Ino's mind techniques turned allies against each other, forcing operatives to cut down their own comrades in moments of hijacked consciousness. Hinata's Gentle Fist struck with precision that stopped hearts and collapsed lungs without any external sign of injury.
Twenty-three operatives entered the engagement zone.
Zero emerged.
The seven who had approached from above—the elite team, the specialists Danzo had personally trained—lasted slightly longer.
Temari's wind held them suspended in midair while Anko ascended to meet them, her movements carrying the predatory grace of the snakes she had once been associated with.
"Danzo sent you," she observed, hanging upside down from a wire she had attached to a nearby rooftop. "His elite. His favorites."
The lead operative said nothing, struggling against the wind that held him immobile.
"I was supposed to be ROOT once," Anko continued. "Did you know that? After Orochimaru abandoned me, Danzo tried to recruit me. Said I had potential. Said he could make me stronger."
She moved closer, her transformed figure casting shadows in the moonlight.
"I said no. Told him I'd rather die than become his puppet."
Her hand closed around the lead operative's throat.
"I'm still not interested in being anyone's puppet. But you..."
She squeezed.
"You never had a choice, did you? Never got to say no. Never got to be anything except what he made you."
The operative's struggles weakened as her grip crushed his windpipe.
"I'd feel sorry for you. But you came here to hurt my boy. And that means you don't get pity. You don't get mercy. You don't get anything except this."
She released him.
He fell.
And the wind that Temari controlled ensured that every operative followed him down, their bodies shattering against the street below with sounds that echoed through the silent night.
Forty-seven ROOT operatives had been deployed.
Forty-seven ROOT operatives were dead.
The entire engagement had lasted less than five minutes.
In his bed, surrounded by warmth that had briefly departed and then returned, Naruto slept on.
His breath was even. His expression was peaceful. His body showed no sign of awareness regarding the slaughter that had just occurred in his name.
The women reformed around him, their positions exactly as they had been, their bodies pressing close with renewed intensity.
"Danzo will send more," Tenten observed quietly.
"Let him," Anko replied. "They'll die like the others."
"Eventually he'll come himself."
"Good." Satsuki's voice carried anticipation. "I want to burn that bandaged face myself."
"We should tell Naruto-kun," Hinata said softly. "He deserves to know what happened."
"In the morning." Anko's arms tightened around their shared focus. "Tonight, he rests. Tomorrow, we explain."
"And then?"
"And then we finish what Danzo started." Sakura's voice was cold. "We've been patient. We've been restrained. We've limited ourselves to threats and demonstrations."
She pressed her face against Naruto's shoulder.
"That ends now. Anyone who threatens him dies. Anyone who moves against him dies. Anyone who even thinks about hurting him dies."
"The village—" Ino started.
"The village chose its side when they refused to protect him as a child. When they beat him and starved him and broke him. When they created the emptiness that we're trying to fill."
Sakura's green eyes glowed faintly in the darkness.
"If the village stands with Danzo, the village burns. If it stands aside, it survives. Those are the only options now."
No one disagreed.
No one could disagree.
Because she was right.
The time for patience had passed.
The time for restraint had ended.
The time for consequences had begun.
Across the village, in ROOT's underground headquarters, Danzo waited for reports that would never come.
An hour passed. Then two.
By the third hour, he understood.
Something had gone wrong.
Something had gone catastrophically, irreversibly wrong.
He sent scouts to investigate. The scouts didn't return.
He sent messengers to the Hokage, requesting emergency council meetings. The messengers found their paths blocked by women with impossible figures and merciless eyes.
By dawn, Danzo realized the truth.
He hadn't eliminated a threat.
He had awakened one.
And now, as the sun rose over a village that didn't yet understand how much had changed, the architect of ROOT sat alone in his hidden chambers and contemplated something he had never contemplated before.
Failure.
Complete, absolute, irreversible failure.
Not just of this mission, but of everything he had built. Everything he had sacrificed. Everything he had convinced himself was necessary for Konoha's survival.
He had spent decades preparing for every possible threat.
He had never prepared for this.
For women who couldn't be intimidated.
For devotion that couldn't be broken.
For love so absolute that it transformed into something indistinguishable from divine wrath.
The door to his chambers exploded inward.
And as seven transformed figures stepped through the smoke and debris, their eyes fixed on him with expressions of cold finality, Danzo Shimura understood that his story was about to end.
"You sent them to hurt him," Sakura said, her voice carrying the weight of judgment.
"You tried to take him from us," Satsuki added, flames dancing around her fingers.
"You threatened the only thing that matters," Anko finished, her claws extending.
Danzo reached for his bandaged arm—for the Sharingan eyes he had collected over decades, for the power that had always been his final resort.
He was too slow.
They were never going to let him be fast enough.
The screaming lasted for quite some time.
But eventually, even that ended.
And when the women emerged from ROOT headquarters into the morning light, they left behind only silence.
The headquarters would be discovered eventually.
The bodies would be found.
The truth of what had happened would spread through the village like wildfire.
But by then, it wouldn't matter.
By then, everyone would understand.
The day Konoha's final days began wasn't marked by invasion or natural disaster.
It was marked by seven women walking calmly through morning streets, returning to the boy they loved, their clothes stained with the blood of everyone who had ever threatened him.
And in their wake, a village that had never learned from its mistakes finally began to understand the cost of cruelty.