After the ANBU finished delivering their detailed report about Naruto's impassioned speech at Might Guy's house, a long silence settled over the Hokage's office.
Hiruzen Sarutobi sat behind his desk without speaking, the pipe in his hand going out only to be relit again and again. Before he realized it, he had changed the tobacco three or four times already.
White smoke curled around his weathered face and blurred his expression, but the shifting light in his old eyes betrayed the storm in his thoughts. Only after a long while did he finally let out a sigh weighed down by complicated emotion.
If the Hokage Building ever held an examination to recruit clerks, Naruto would probably pass the essay portion with ease on the strength of that speech alone.
Hiruzen was not joking. Other people might score ninety-five because their ability stopped at ninety-five. Naruto, on the other hand, had spoken with such perfect instinct that it felt as though the exam itself would have no choice but to award him full marks simply because there were no higher marks to give.
Personal effort. Protecting comrades. Safeguarding the future of the village.
Those words had woven all three together into one seamless conviction. That was the Will of Fire in its purest form—so pure, in fact, that it surpassed the understanding of many full-grown shinobi who had repeated the phrase for years without ever truly carrying it in their hearts.
What surprised the Third Hokage most was not merely the result, but its source.
All of these changes in Naruto seemed to trace back, one way or another, to Might Guy.
When Hiruzen had first allowed Naruto to receive taijutsu guidance from Guy, his reasoning had been practical. Naruto needed to strengthen his body, and Guy's straightforward nature meant he was unlikely to reject the boy because of ugly rumors or the fear that infected the rest of the village.
But who could have imagined that Guy's loud, simple, even slightly ridiculous "youth" philosophy would guide Naruto somewhere so bright? That beneath all that passion and absurdity there was a strange, astonishing power—the power to shape a child's spirit in the healthiest possible direction.
Might Guy… what a remarkable talent for raising people.
The thought rose again in Hiruzen's heart, more sincere than before.
He began, without intending to, to compare Guy to the instructors at the Ninja Academy. Each of them had their own style, their own strengths, their own acceptable results. And yet none of them, not one, had accomplished anything close to this with Naruto.
Who would have thought that the jonin everyone usually described as hot-blooded, impulsive, and only somewhat reliable could, in fact, be such an excellent teacher?
Good. Very good.
Wonderful, even.
If the day ever came when Might Guy was no longer suited for dangerous frontline missions, then perhaps he could be transferred to the Academy and become an instructor there. If such a proposal were ever raised, Hiruzen felt certain that he would be the first person in the room to approve it.
The more he thought about it, the more delighted he became.
Naruto had grown up surrounded by coldness, isolation, rejection, and fear. By any ordinary logic, a child raised in such an environment should have become withdrawn, resentful, twisted by bitterness, or at the very least indifferent to the village that had denied him warmth.
And yet after training with Guy, Naruto had become more cheerful, more open, and even more determined to love Konoha. Not only had he not grown to hate the village, he was now speaking of comrades, duty, and protection with a fiery sincerity that made even adults look dim beside him.
In Hiruzen's eyes, this was nothing short of the ideal outcome in the management of a jinchūriki.
Once the initial wave of relief and excitement passed, however, the chill of reality returned.
The old man tapped his pipe lightly against the desk, his brows knitting together.
It was true that many shinobi withdrew from the battlefield in their forties or fifties as age dulled their reflexes and strained their bodies. Those who stepped back could still contribute as instructors, advisers, or administrators.
But if Hiruzen waited until Might Guy reached that age before putting such plans into motion… then by then, his own bones would most likely already be lying in a grave.
No. Konoha's future could not wait that long.
A cold and unmistakable realization gradually took shape in his mind.
He needed to find a reliable successor. Soon.
Someone who could inherit the office of Hokage steadily and cleanly. Someone the village could trust. Someone strong enough, wise enough, and prestigious enough to shoulder the weight of the entire Hidden Leaf without allowing it to falter.
His thoughts naturally turned to the two disciples who had once made him proud—and who now, in different ways, gave him endless headaches.
Jiraiya. Tsunade.
He had to find one of them as soon as possible.
Whether it was Jiraiya, with his immense strength, sharp instincts, and unusually broad perspective, or Tsunade, with her unrivaled medical ninjutsu and towering reputation, both of them stood far above the rest as the most suitable candidates.
One roamed the world like drifting wind. The other drowned herself in gambling and avoided the past like a wound she refused to touch.
Even so, only they truly possessed the combination of ability, experience, and name recognition required to shoulder the Hokage's burden in the near future.
His thoughts then drifted to the younger generation.
Among the generation after his own, Nara Shikaku was perhaps the most suitable when it came to strategy, intelligence, and steady judgment. But in terms of pure personal strength and the commanding presence needed to intimidate enemies and reassure allies, Shikaku still fell short.
Then came the next generation—the one closer to his youngest son Asuma's age.
Among them, Kakashi stood out the most.
Whether it was talent, battle strength, intelligence, seniority, or reputation, Hatake Kakashi was undeniably among the best of the younger shinobi. If Hiruzen lowered the standard enough to think in terms of "someone who might barely do," then Kakashi was the only one who even approached the threshold.
And yet that word—barely—was exactly the problem.
Kakashi still carried the long shadows cast by too many tragedies. Hatake Sakumo's disgrace. Uchiha Obito's death. Nohara Rin's death.
Those things had not merely shaped Kakashi; they had hollowed him out in places no one could easily mend. He had strength, yes. Reputation, yes. Intelligence, unquestionably. But he still needed time. Experience. Further tempering.
As for Asuma…
Hiruzen let out another quiet breath of smoke.
His son was certainly an excellent elite jonin, but excellence alone did not make one fit to become Hokage. Asuma lacked the overwhelming presence required to command the whole village and suppress every faction. More importantly, his path had already diverged once—so much so that he had gone to serve among the Twelve Guardian Ninja of the daimyo.
No matter how Hiruzen weighed it, Asuma was still far from being a qualified successor.
By the time his thoughts reached that point, the burden on his shoulders seemed even heavier than before.
The matter of succession could no longer be postponed. It had to be placed on the agenda immediately.
That realization carried with it not only urgency, but also the bleak awareness of his own age.
He did not have many years left.
As an old man who had lived through three great shinobi wars, Hiruzen understood the cruelty of time better than most. Heroes fell. Comrades vanished. The strong became old, and the old became names carved into stone.
He could not allow Konoha to be caught unprepared when his own time finally ran out.
At last, the Third Hokage exhaled a long plume of smoke, as if he were forcing every tangled emotion in his chest out along with it.
Then he raised his pipe and tapped it twice against the hard surface of the desk.
The crisp sound echoed clearly through the office.
When he spoke again, his voice was calm and steady, but it carried the unquestionable authority of the Hokage.
"Effective immediately, all ANBU units directly under my command are to cease routine surveillance of Naruto Uzumaki. From this point onward, only the minimum protective observation necessary for his safety is to remain in place."
He paused for a brief moment.
Then his gaze sharpened, and the next sentence came out colder than the winter night beyond the office windows.
It sounded less like a general order and more like a direct warning aimed at an old friend hiding within the darkness.
"Root members are no exception. If any Root operative is discovered monitoring Naruto without my explicit permission…"
His tone turned icy.
"Bring that person directly to me. Shimura Danzo may come and retrieve them himself."
This command did more than adjust Naruto's treatment.
It drew a line.
A line for the ANBU. A line for Root. A line for Danzo.
It was Hiruzen's way of saying that Naruto Uzumaki remained under the Hokage's authority, and that no one—not even his oldest and most troublesome shadow—would be allowed to cross that boundary as they pleased.
"Yes, Lord Hokage."
The silver-haired ANBU operative wearing a dog mask appeared in an instant before the desk, knelt, received the order, and then vanished again in a flicker of movement.
The office fell silent once more.
But elsewhere, in the darkness hidden deep within Naruto's consciousness, Kurama sensed the shift almost the moment it began.
The Nine-Tails felt the retreat of the watchers before any human words could have reached Naruto's ears.
Kurama told him.
Naruto, upon hearing it, did not do anything extra. He did not celebrate. He did not become careless. He simply let the information settle in his heart and answered the fox in silence, letting Kurama know that he understood.
After all these years…
The Third Hokage had finally lowered his guard.