Akira possessed the strength of seasoned Jonin, so their pace was far swifter than the last time Akira had traveled to the Wind Country under Orochimaru's lead with the others. In under two days, they reached the rear headquarters of the battlefield, where they quickly reunited with Anko and Hayate.
Upon arriving, Akira considered whether he should first seek out Orochimaru. Despite his personal dislike for the man, Orochimaru was still his nominal teacher. Ignoring him completely would be rude and out of step with the persona Akira had crafted—a respectful, humble ninja who valued unity and honored his elders. Besides, with no new orders from the Third Hokage, Akira needed to receive a mission through Orochimaru anyway.
Akira approached the large command tent, adjusting his expression carefully outside the flap. He had to mask any trace of disgust he might subconsciously show. Orochimaru was a perceptive man; even the slightest slip could raise suspicions.
As Akira entered the tent, he saw Orochimaru at his desk, scribbling something with intense focus. Without hesitation, Akira put on an enthusiastic expression and announced, "Orochimaru-sensei, I'm back."
Orochimaru turned, his pale face lighting up with a thin smile. It had been some time since he'd last seen Akira, his most promising pupil. Orochimaru had always believed Akira would be the perfect successor to carry on his legacy of experimentation and forbidden knowledge.
The only reason they had been separated was because of Akira's request to serve at the front lines after the incident with the poisonous research. Orochimaru had grudgingly approved it. Since then, he had heard disturbing whispers—Akira was growing close to the Third Hokage, and worse, entertaining dreams of becoming Hokage himself. Unthinkable!
The old fool Sarutobi must have started feeding him that wretched philosophy—the Will of Fire. Orochimaru knew the method well. He had resisted it himself, once. But Akira was still young and impressionable.
No, Orochimaru thought bitterly, I won't let the old man take him away.
With a voice full of honeyed concern, he asked, "Akira, how have you been? I heard you were training under Tsunade for a time. What have you learned?"
Akira offered a polite, cheerful smile. "Tsunade-sama taught me a lot about medical ninjutsu and chakra control. It was an incredible experience. I learned many things I believe will help me protect the people of the village."
Orochimaru nodded, his smile strained. So the Third Hokage had even sent him to Tsunade. A well-rounded education, engineered to make him a perfect Hokage candidate. Clever.
The conversation drifted to Akira's promotion to Special Jonin and his new role as team leader. Orochimaru's smile thinned.
"You're becoming quite accomplished," Orochimaru said, voice silky but laced with hidden irritation. "But leading a team means you'll be away from your teacher more and more. I still have so many techniques I haven't passed on to you yet. It would be a shame if we grew distant."
Akira tilted his head, feigning hesitation. "I understand, sensei. I too want to continue learning from you. But... becoming Hokage is my dream. Leading a team is part of that journey. If I stay by your side forever, I may never grow into the leader I want to become."
The words hit Orochimaru like a cold wind. So it was true. The boy had formed his own path. He wasn't just a malleable tool anymore.
"Hokage?" Orochimaru sneered, recovering quickly. "Why chain yourself to that illusion of glory? Power, real power, lies in mastery of jutsu and the secrets of the universe. Not in leading a bureaucracy. Follow me, and we can uncover truths that no one else dares to imagine."
But Akira's face remained serene. "True power exists to protect. Protecting those I care about, protecting the village... that is my purpose. If I gain strength and do not use it to help others, what good is it?"
Orochimaru leaned in slightly, voice low and persuasive. "Faith won't protect you from a blade. Only overwhelming power can do that. Don't be misled by noble ideals. The world isn't that kind."
But Akira met his gaze steadily. "The strongest force in this world isn't solitary power, it's unity. It's people coming together. That's the strength I want to cultivate as Hokage."
Orochimaru's eyes narrowed. Every word Akira spoke sounded like it had come from Sarutobi himself. Orochimaru was seething inwardly. He had been so close to shaping Akira into his perfect heir—but now, the boy was slipping through his fingers.
And all because of that damned Third Hokage.
Orochimaru's hands curled slightly. The image of Sarutobi filling Akira's ears with lofty speeches and poisoned dreams made his blood boil. That sly old man always went after the young, the idealistic—never daring to confront Orochimaru directly.
Meanwhile, Akira remained composed. Every phrase he had rehearsed, some borrowed from Sarutobi, some of his own invention. His goal was simple: make Orochimaru give up on him. Let him go. And judging by Orochimaru's stiff posture and darkened expression, he had succeeded.
Seeing the moment was right, Akira shifted the conversation.
"Orochimaru-sensei, I am ready to serve the village," he said, voice clear and eyes resolute. "Please, assign me a mission."
For a moment, silence hung heavy in the tent. Orochimaru studied Akira's face, searching for a crack, a tremor of doubt. But there was none. Just unwavering resolve.
Orochimaru finally leaned back, forcing a smile. "Very well, Akira. Let's see how far your path takes you."
In that moment, Akira looked every bit the successor to the Will of Fire—burning with purpose, eager to protect, and prepared to lead. And behind his back, Orochimaru's smile turned cold, his thoughts darker still.
Since my last confrontation with Orochimaru, life on the battlefield has settled into an almost ordinary rhythm. I operated just like any other Jonin leading a small team, carrying out missions, resting in shifts, and constantly preparing for the next battle. It was a welcome change from the tense mind games I had to endure under Orochimaru's gaze.
Whether he had truly given up on trying to persuade me or had simply shifted tactics and now plotted from the shadows, I couldn't say. But for now, I could breathe easier, free from the need to constantly weave lies and excuses to keep him at bay. And should he try anything in the future, I was ready. If necessary, I would oppose him head-on. Let the soldiers block the generals, let the earth stop the water.
My squad had started to find its rhythm. Though it was a newly formed team with only two Genin, our efficiency rivaled that of far more seasoned groups. That was thanks to a combination of my overwhelming combat strength and the veteran wisdom of Might Guy's former peer, Uncle Kosuke. Anko and Hayate, still green by comparison, were making rapid progress. The rigorous training and repeated missions had shaped them, toughened them. They were no longer a liability.
Despite being the official captain, I was the youngest in the group. Uncle Kosuke, with his weathered hands and calm demeanor, naturally became our guiding voice. I respected him deeply, often deferring to his judgment when strategizing. In fact, to outsiders, it probably looked like Kosuke was the real team leader, and I didn't mind one bit.
"I think Uncle Kosuke's plan makes sense. Let's proceed with that." That line had practically become my catchphrase.
But the atmosphere in the camp had changed recently. The frequency of Sunagakure's scouting missions had noticeably increased. It wasn't just paranoia—Konoha's commanders were uneasy too. Something was brewing.
Today's mission was straightforward on paper: patrol the perimeter of the camp and identify any suspicious enemy scouts. But the simplicity of the task didn't fool me. It was the calm before a storm. I could feel it in my bones.
I activated my sensory ninjutsu the moment we stepped out. My Sharingan spun lazily behind my eyelids, ready to pierce through any illusion or disguise. While sensory techniques had their limits, the Sharingan could reveal chakra signatures hidden behind even the most complex cloaking jutsu.
"Can you stop eating, Anko?" Hayate's voice cut through the quiet. "Your little belly and double chin are about to pop out."
I glanced sideways and saw Anko munching dumplings with blissful ignorance, her cheeks puffed up like a squirrel's.
"If I don't eat, how will I have the strength to fight?" she retorted without missing a bite.
"The smell could give away our position! And the noise! You chew louder than a wild boar."
"Please. With Akira and Uncle Kosuke around, we can crush any enemies. Besides, your coughing is more likely to get us caught."
As their bickering grew louder, I exchanged a glance with Kosuke. We shared a quiet smile.
They were still kids in many ways. Their arguments were small and fleeting, a moment of levity in a world soaked with blood and tension. Anko always won these spats. Hayate just didn't have the verbal firepower.
"Eat all you want, you'll die of obesity. Let's see who would marry you then," Hayate muttered bitterly under his breath.
I heard him, though Anko didn't. In another life, she never married. But she outlived Hayate, whose illness had cut his future short. I glanced at him with a trace of pity.
But not this time.
Thanks to Tsunade's teachings and my growing medical expertise, I had begun treating Hayate's condition. His health had stabilized, and he was getting stronger every day. If he continued on this path, he might live the life fate once denied him.
He might even be able to face Baki again—and this time, the outcome could be different.
My thoughts were cut short by a sudden flicker in my senses. Chakra signatures. Unfamiliar. I had memorized the patterns of our patrol teams. These didn't belong here.
"Everyone, stop." I raised a hand. Anko and Hayate immediately fell silent. "Roughly five kilometers ahead. Several chakra signatures. Not ours."
Their faces hardened in an instant.
"Sunagakure scouts?" Anko asked.
"Most likely. Their chakra isn't strong. I want to take them alive if possible—extract information. This feels like more than routine reconnaissance."
I looked to Kosuke. "What do you think, Uncle?"
He paused, considering. Then nodded. "You're right to be cautious. Let's proceed."
With a shared understanding, our pace quickened.
The wind whispered across the sand, but I could feel something shifting in the current of war. Sunagakure's desperation had reached a boiling point. Their poisoned tactics had failed. Their shinobi were losing ground. And now, they sought a final gambit—a decisive strike to turn the tide before they collapsed under the weight of their own shortcomings.
I knew what this meant.
The Battle of Kikyo Mountain was coming. The turning point of this war.
And I would be there when history was written.