Chương 27: The Third Hokage

The Nara compound. The veranda ran along the east side of the main house, wooden boards still warm from the afternoon sun. The garden beyond was quiet. Somewhere in the estate, deer moved through the long grass. Shikaku Nara and Inoichi Yamanaka sat facing each other across a shogi board. Neither of them was really thinking about shogi.

"You never liked this game much," Shikaku observed. Inoichi's frown—the one he'd been directing at the board—smoothed out. He leaned back.

"Has Tsume been to see you?" Shikaku made a sound that wasn't quite a sigh.

"Can't we just play?"

"She's been reaching out to a lot of jonin today," Inoichi said.

"Veteran ones. She wants to call a jonin council. Most of the veteran jonin had close ties with Tsukasa." He moved a piece—deliberately, not from strategy.

"She came to me about it last night." Shikaku looked at the board without speaking.

"Are you just going to let her do whatever she wants?" Inoichi's voice was careful.

"And Shibi—he's right behind her. The entire Aburame clan is behind him." Shikaku was quiet for a long moment.

"Inoichi," he said finally.

"If I were determined to do something—something I'd committed to—would you support me?"

"... Well. If you'd decided on it, it wouldn't be wrong—""But what if it was?" Shikaku's eyes stayed on the board.

"What if I knew it was wrong, and I was going to do it anyway. Would you still support me?" Inoichi didn't answer.

"If Shibi doesn't stand with her," Shikaku said, "Tsume has no one behind her."

"What about the jonin?" Inoichi asked.

"The ones she reached out to today?"

"The veteran jonin won't agree." Shikaku shook his head.

"Why not?"

"Because I won't."

"..."

"Tsume came to me first thing this morning." His voice was even.

"I'm the Jonin Commander. I was Tsukasa's friend. Of course she came to me first. But I turned her down. Without me behind it, a jonin council doesn't happen. It can't." Inoichi opened his mouth. Closed it. Sat with that for a moment.

"You just said—" He stopped. Tried again.

"If you'd asked me to support you—""Would you support me?" Shikaku asked again.

"... Probably," Inoichi said.

"Yeah." A short laugh. Genuine, but brief.

"Knew you'd say that." He reached forward and moved a piece. The click of it against the board was the only sound for a moment.

"But when it comes down to it—when it conflicts with what's best for the village—you'd make the same choice I would. Wouldn't you."

"... Yeah," he said.

"I would." Shikaku looked at the board. Inoichi looked at it too—not thinking, just looking.

"The jonin council isn't happening," Shikaku said. He slid another piece into place. Inoichi laughed despite himself. Low, a little rueful.

"I've never been able to beat you at this." Shikaku didn't respond to that. He was still looking at the board.

"Tsume knew I wouldn't agree, Inoichi. Shibi knew it too. He knew it from the start."

"... Is that right," Inoichi said. Evening had settled over the Inuzuka compound by the time Tsume came home. Her footsteps were heavy. Kiba wasn't back yet. Hana was in the kitchen—she could hear the quiet rhythm of knife against cutting board before she'd even opened the door.

"Welcome back, Mom." Hana leaned out from the kitchen doorway, wiping her hands on a cloth. Her smile was the easy kind, the one that meant nothing was wrong.

"Yeah," Tsume said. She set her pack down. Let herself stand still for a moment.

"Oh—Mom. Hiroshi-sama and Terui-sama came by a little while ago. They said to find them when you got home." Tsume's expression went flat. The two men Hana was talking about were senior Inuzuka, old guard. She knew exactly what they wanted. Kuromaru padded out from the back hallway, moving slowly, his single eye finding her.

"Tsume." His voice was low, unhurried.

"The elders say there's something that needs to be handled. Clan business." She didn't answer. Hana emerged from the kitchen a few minutes later with the food, setting it out on the table, straightening each dish with the automatic care of someone who'd done this every evening for years.

"Mom?" Tsume was still standing in the same spot. This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.

"I need to get back to the hospital," Hana said, lifting a small box from the counter.

"I'll put yours out—can you heat Kiba's when he gets in?"

"... Yeah."

"Mom?"

"Go on." Tsume waved one hand.

"Take care of Shin." Hana hesitated for one more second, then nodded and left, the door clicking shut behind her. The room went quiet. Kuromaru crossed the room without asking anything and settled beside her—simply lay down against her leg. Tsume let herself drop onto the couch. After a moment, her fingers found the fur along his neck, working through it absently.

"Everyone's telling me to stop." Her voice came out flat. Not loud.

"The elders. Shibi. The whole clan just— stop. Like it's that simple." Kuromaru was still.

"I only wanted to protect him." She stared at the ceiling.

"That was all it was." A long pause.

"Was I wrong?" He didn't answer. He pressed his head a little heavier against her leg, and she kept her hand moving, slow, through his fur. Shin was reading when the knock came. He'd been alone for the past hour—Hana had gone home to cook, and the ward was quieter in the evenings, the footsteps in the hall more spread out. He'd been fine. He had the book. Tales of the Gutsy Ninja.

Ryoto Ninomiya had pressed it into his hands that morning with the gravity of someone entrusting an heirloom, which—given how he'd described his personal collection—was probably accurate.

"Take good care of it," Ryoto had said.

"I mean it." Shin had not been particularly interested. He'd flipped through the first few pages mostly to have something to do, and then found himself actually reading. The protagonist's name was Naruto. There was something strange about that—not strange in a bad way, just strange. The fictional Naruto had the same unbothered, headlong quality as the real one. A little less chaotic, maybe. A little more earnest. But the same refusal to give up on anything, the same stubborn streak running all the way through.

He could see why someone would name a kid after this character. Knock knock. He looked up. The man in the doorway was old—white hair, deep lines in his face, the kind of stillness that settled into people over decades. Red and white robes. A hat with a character Shin had ever seen from a distance, carved into the rock of the Hokage Monument. Fire. Shin set the book down and started to rise.

"No need for that." Lord Hiruzen— the Hokage —waved one hand, stepping into the room. His eyes had disappeared into the creases of a smile.

"You're still recovering. Sit." Shin sat. He wasn't sure what else to do. The Third Hokage settled into the chair beside the bed like a man who had nowhere pressing to be, and Shin tried very hard not to stare. He'd always imagined the Third as something like the stone carving—serious, immovable, formal. The person currently looking at him with genuine warmth did not match that image at all.

"I heard you were ill," Lord Hiruzen said.

"Thought I'd come see how you were getting on."

"I'm... much better, my lord." Shin said it carefully.

"I should be able to be discharged tomorrow."

"Still, better to be thorough. You're young—you don't want anything lingering."

"Yes, my lord. Thank you."

"You don't have to be so stiff." A soft laugh. He'd moved toward the window, not quite looking out of it—more like giving Shin a moment to collect himself. Then his gaze dropped to the book on the bed.

"Were you reading?"

"Yes." Shin held it out. Lord Hiruzen took it. He read the cover, and something passed over his face—a brief pause, a small sound that wasn't quite a laugh.

"Is something wrong, my lord?"

"Mm." The Hokage turned a few pages, unhurried.

"Have you finished it?"

"I only just started. One of Hana's teammates lent it to me."

"And? What do you think?"

"I'm enjoying it. The main character has the same name as one of my classmates."

"Naruto Uzumaki?" A smile. Shin blinked.

"You know him?"

"I know all the students in your year."

"... That's very thorough of you, my lord."

"It comes with the position." Another easy laugh. He set the book back on the bed, and his hands folded in his lap, and he looked at Shin the way people looked when they had been building toward something for some time.

"You've been working hard," he said.

"Top of your class. I hear you train on your own, outside of academy hours."

"I just have extra time." Shin kept his expression neutral.

"Nothing special."

"You're close with Naruto? The two of you spend time together."

"We play together sometimes. He's made a few friends now—Kiba, Shikamaru, Choji, Shino." Lord Hiruzen's expression softened.

"He doesn't have many friends, that boy." A faint sigh, fond and tired at once.

"Look after him when you can." They talked after that—about the Academy, about classes, about small things that added up to something that felt almost comfortable. Shin hadn't expected that.

"You know," Lord Hiruzen said, glancing at the book again, "Naruto's father named him after the main character. He read this book when he was young, and it stayed with him."

"Then his father must have been a remarkable shinobi," Shin said. He meant it. Someone who'd held onto that kind of hope—who'd wanted his son's name to carry it—"He was." A long pause. The Hokage's gaze went somewhere else, briefly.

"Very much so." Then: "Your father was also a remarkable shinobi, Shin." The room went still. Shin waited.

"Do you know much about his past?" Lord Hiruzen asked.

"... Fugaku-sama spoke to me once." He said it carefully.

"About some things." Something moved behind the old man's eyes. There and gone, smooth as water closing over a stone.

"... Did he." His voice had come down a register. He turned toward the window—properly this time, hands clasped behind his back.

"There's a great deal that happened," he said, after a moment.

"Things that wouldn't be easy to explain. Or easy to understand, even if I did." Shin said nothing.

"Shin."

"Yes, my lord." Lord Hiruzen turned. His face was worn with years, and his eyes carried the kind of tiredness that had nothing to do with sleep, and he was smiling.

"I hope you grow into a shinobi your father would be proud of."

"I will." The words came out reflexively, sincerely.

"I'll work hard." The Third Hokage nodded once, then moved toward the door. Shin started to rise—to see him out—and Lord Hiruzen paused. He was looking at the book.

"It really is a good story," he said.

"The author would be pleased to know someone like you has been reading it."

"... Oh." A beat.

"Please take care on your way back, my lord!" The door closed....... Shin sat with the book in his lap for a while, looking at the cover. He wasn't sure what any of that had been about. He was one student in one class, recovering from a fever—not the kind of person who warranted a Hokage's time. The visit made no practical sense. Or rather, he knew this was no ordinary fever. But then, there was a great deal he didn't understand yet. His world had been a school building for the past several months.

Things were happening beyond it, and he could only catch the edges—the weight in pauses, the flicker of expressions, the things people stopped themselves from saying. He didn't know enough. He set the book aside. Several minutes later, the door opened and Hana came in with the dinner box.

"Shin! Dinner time." She was already pulling out containers, setting them on the table with automatic care.

"... Hana."

"Hm?"

"I think I can be discharged tomorrow."

"No you can't—""The Hokage was just here." Hana went still. She turned.

"... The Hokage?"

"He came to visit. We talked for a while." Shin paused.

"He told me to keep working hard. Which means I can't afford to fall further behind." She stared at him.

"That is not the conclusion you should be drawing from a Hokage visit," she said.

"It seems reasonable to me." A long look—the kind that meant she knew she was going to lose this argument and was deciding how much to fight it anyway.

"... Tomorrow," she said finally.

"If the morning check is clear."

"Thank you, Hana-nee." She reached to ruffle his hair. He ducked.

"Eat," she said. He reached for the chopsticks.

"Hana," he said, a few bites in.

"What?"

"... How much do you know about genjutsu?" Hana's hands went still. She turned. The expression on her face shifted—surprise first, sharp and immediate, and then something heavier moving in underneath it." Hana?" He understood her reaction. He understood it because he already knew—had known since he woke up in the hospital—that he'd been caught in a genjutsu. Fugaku Uchiha's genjutsu. He didn't know why. He didn't know what he'd done to warrant it, or what Fugaku had been looking for, or what he'd found.

That last part was what kept him quiet. He was afraid of what he might have given away. That day was a blur—impressions without edges, words he couldn't quite recover. He didn't ask Hana anything else. Instead he spent the next several minutes reassuring her—I'm fine, really—until the tension in her face slowly loosened, and she accepted it, and said goodnight.