"You're an impatient one, aren't you?" Lady Marika tutted as we stepped into her room.

"Time's slipping away, Lady Marika," we said, settling down across from her, our eyes steady. "I believe you of all people understand that. I've displayed my willingness to parley. Now it's time you showed me some sincerity."

She studied us for a long moment, silence between us, her eyes unreadable. We waited, unmoved.

"Very well," she said at last. She reached into her sleeve, drawing out two scrolls, tossing them to us. We caught them both, our Sharingan flickering as we inspected them. The first held what we had asked for—weapons, explosives, funding. The second scroll, though, was something else entirely. We hadn't requested it.

"What's this?" we asked, our eyes taking in the list of names and addresses, each detail committed to memory.

"A wedding gift," she said, her voice carrying a sigh. "Contacts. Spread out across the islands. You might find it valuable. You may not feel it yet, but Shizuka is going to be the mother of your child. That makes us family, no matter how… unorthodox the arrangement."

We looked at her, uncertain what to make of the gesture. "Thank you," we said finally, pocketing the scroll. It was valuable, even if we had no need for it now.

"I'll be leaving," we told her, rising. "I can't say when I'll be back. But have my facility ready. I'd rather have it when I need it than not."

"I'll make it a priority," she said, a chuckle in her voice. "After all, I can't have you running off now. That'd be a real shame."

We gave her a half-smile, though it grated on us more than it should have. We shut down another cluster of nerves in the amygdala, damping the irritation. "You think I'd leave one of mine in your care without my own oversight?"

"What do you mean?"

We gestured to one of the clones by our side. "Kaigo will stay behind. To watch over her. When Shizuka conceives, the clone will be one of her caretakers. You won't have a problem with that, will you?"

She paused, eyes narrowing. "No. No problem at all. Just make sure you use that gift well."

"I'll make sure of it." We paused, a thought crossing our mind. "Since you're feeling generous, I have one more request."

Lady Marika regarded us for a long moment, her suspicion clear. "Go on."

"I need copies of this sent to as many of the Shinobi Villages as you can reach. Subtly." We handed her a scroll.

She took it, opening it and skimming the contents. Her frown deepened. "So, this is why you're hell-bent on getting yourself killed," she said. "A moral victory?"

"Not quite," we said. "A divided enemy is an easier enemy. Konoha won't stand united once that gets out. Defeat-in-Detail. Divide-and-Conquer. You know how it goes."

She sighed. "I'll see what I can do."

We smiled. "Thank you… Aunty."

----------------------------------------

In the heart of the Wave's newly bustling commercial district, amid the twisted streets lined with wooden facades, there stood a building both discreet and imposing. Haruki, the lanky and faithful lieutenant, paused as he approached it. It had become a ritual, a moment of respectful silence. Some said it was to clear the mind before stepping into the world beyond those doors; others simply claimed it was simply a show of respect. Haruki understood it as both—entering Jinrui Tanaka's office was not an ordinary affair.

The building was crafted with care. Sliding doors opened soundlessly, revealing an interior where tradition mingled seamlessly with commerce. The tatami flooring was cool beneath Haruki's socked feet, and soft light filtered through shoji screens, bathing the room in a gentle luminescence. Paintings of sweeping landscapes adorned the walls, and a small bonsai tree graced the corner, its branches pruned with near-obsessive care.

Clerks and bookkeepers moved silently, their attire a reflection of Jinrui's refined tastes. The scratching of brushes on parchment filled the air, broken only by the whisper of sliding doors as clients came and went. Haruki made his way through to a section screened off by an elaborately decorated shoji. Behind it lay the inner sanctum—soundproofed with Fūinjutsu seals—where Jinrui conducted his most delicate affairs.

Haruki waited patiently, listening as the rustle of fabric announced the end of a meeting. The shoji slid open, and a stately group emerged. Local lords, resplendent in traditional robes, exchanged polite bows with Jinrui Tanaka before departing. Jinrui turned, his gaze meeting Haruki's.

"Come," he said simply, vanishing back behind the screen.

Haruki exhaled, following, the door sliding closed behind him. Jinrui sat at a low table, his kimono impeccable, a glaring symbol of wealth and status. A calligraphy scroll hung behind him, the strokes evoking harmony and success. A golden typewriter sat upon a ledger, a reminder of the improbable prosperity the shinobi had achieved.

The lacquered tea set at the centre of the table seemed almost a mockery now—an invitation to ceremony, to tradition, to the sort of pleasantries that bound men together. But Haruki knew there would be no ceremony today. He was here on graver business.

"Boss," Haruki said, extending the scroll. Jinrui took it, his eyes narrowing as he scanned the contents.

"They turned us down?" Jinrui asked, his voice even. He rolled the scroll up, placing it deliberately before him.

"Yes, boss," Haruki replied, careful in his words. "Our contact in the Land of Water says the Water Daimyō remains committed to non-intervention. He calls it foreign politics."

"Foreign politics," Jinrui sneered. "We offer to stabilize the trade routes in his own country, and he speaks of foreign politics. Forget him. Any word from the team we sent to the Mizukage? They've had enough time to mourn the Fourth, surely."

"Yes, boss. Kento's team should have reached Kiri by now. No word from them yet, though."

Unauthorized content usage: if you discover this narrative on Amazon, report the violation.

Jinrui chewed his lip, the silence stretching as he considered the information.

"So, because of this fool's cowardice, we are stuck with Suisen-Benisu-Frost, Sekai-Sabaku, and a few lanes in the Nagi Sea. Three weeks gone by, and no progress beyond these regions? That's poor form."

Haruki hesitated. "But boss, we have most of Gatō's assets. Perhaps it would be prudent to consolidate, rather than expand."

"Consolidate?" Jinrui barked a laugh, disdain in his voice. "And let our competitors snatch the rest from under our noses? We've already lost Yanwu and Sunafuki islands. Access to Glacier Passage is uncertain, and we can't guarantee our vessels in the Chiguri Sea. And you suggest we consolidate?"

Haruki winced. "I spoke out of turn, boss. Forgive me."

Jinrui sighed, a tired sound. "What about the agents from the Land of Fire? Any trouble yet?"

"No, sir. Still watching and waiting. Though we did have some trouble in the Land of Noodles—a local lord, trying to step into Gatō's shoes. Seems unhappy that we beat him to it. Should we deal with him like we did in Benisu?"

"Yes," Jinrui said, dismissive. "Bring him in. Make sure he doesn't cause any more trouble. We can't afford distractions now. The Chūnin Exams are in a month and a half. We need to be ready to move at the first opportunity. Understood?"

"Yes, boss."

----------------------------------------

Shikamaru stood before the door marked with a "Restricted Area" sign, exhaling slowly. It was nothing, he tried to tell himself, just another routine. But it was the fifteenth time this week, and the weight of it hadn't lessened. He was a Genin, for goodness' sake, being escorted by an entire squad of ANBU operatives into a secret underground facility. He'd been kept in isolation, subjected to a repeating series of invasive medical and psychological evaluations, watched constantly. Three weeks of this, and still no answers.

The heavy steel door creaked open. He stepped through, and there, waiting for him, was his father. The man's gaze was worried, weary, and Shikamaru knew he wasn't alone in his fear.

Across from Shikaku stood Inoichi and Princess Tsunade. In the centre of the room lay Kakashi, stretched out on a cot, his face obscured by one of those scientific devices—one Shikamaru had grown used to seeing strapped to his own head. It was the Yamanaka Clan's Way—a tool to delve into the minds of others. Shikamaru had been on the receiving end of it many times.

"He's here," one of the ANBU announced, his voice echoing flatly. Tsunade gestured at them, waving them off. They vanished. The room was dimly lit, a cold fluorescent bulb casting long shadows. A handful of medics sat along the walls, their faces hidden beneath similar devices, thick cords trailing from their heads to a large machine in the corner, which hummed, the room filled with its electric pulse. Cords extended to Inoichi and, by extension, Kakashi, tying their minds to the machine.

"Come," Tsunade said, her eyes on Shikamaru. She gestured to a cot beside Kakashi's. Shikamaru turned to his father, who said nothing, his expression speaking the assent he withheld in words. Shikamaru sighed, stepping towards the cot. Tsunade strapped the device onto his head, her face grim. He tried to smile, but she did not return it.

Minutes passed. Tsunade studied the readouts, her brow furrowing.

"Nothing," she finally said, her voice betraying her frustration. "It's as if it never existed."

Shikamaru glanced at his father, who looked grim, his jaw tight.

"Nothing?" Shikaku asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

"No," Tsunade replied, shaking her head. "There was envy, sure. There was doubt. But fear? Nothing. Not a single indication he was ever terrified of the Uchiha boy."

Shikaku's face darkened. "But he was. I remember it. I showed you my memories. He was terrified of him. That doesn’t just vanish."

Tsunade sighed. "There's nothing here, Shikaku."

Silence fell over the room, oppressive, until Inoichi finally spoke, disconnecting the wires from Kakashi.

"Nothing on Kakashi's end either," he said. "No signs of tampering. No evidence of anything wrong. Though—" he hesitated. "There was something—an increased attachment to the Uchiha. A sense of disillusionment towards the village. Since his return from Wave." He looked at Tsunade, uncertain. "I don't know if that's an indication of tampering or not."

Another silence settled. Shikamaru could feel his gut churning, something cold crawling up his spine.

"If we're correct," Kakashi spoke from the cot, "then the boy can remove and alter memories without leaving behind a trace."

Tsunade's eyes went to Kakashi, her face hard. Inoichi nodded slowly.

"It's unheard of," he said, his face pale, his eyes distant. "But at this point, I'm not ruling anything out."

"There have to be limits," Shikaku said. "Right?"

"Maybe," Tsunade replied. "We still don’t know if he can affect a Jonin-level shinobi. Perhaps it's less effective on stronger minds. Kakashi's attachment might be the result of something else entirely—psychological triggers, unrelated to the Uchiha. We can't jump to conclusions."

Shikaku scoffed, anger in his voice. "Or it could be that his mind has already been tampered with—that this is another of that bastard's tricks. If that's true, then everyone who has had contact with the Uchiha is compromised."

"Even the Second Hokage?" Inoichi asked, his brow furrowing.

"Possibly," Shikaku said.

Tsunade's eyes narrowed. "This stays in this room," she ordered, her voice hard.

"But—"

"No," she cut him off. "I know more about the Mangekyo than you do. Using it for something this trivial—making Shikamaru feel less threatened—is beyond reason. And if we let a rumour like this get out, it will destroy the village's cohesion." She turned to Shikaku, her glare withering. "You want to tear us apart, Shikaku? Because that's how you do it. Unfounded rumors."

Shikaku looked away, chastised.

"I understand," Tsunade said, her voice softening. "I understand why you’re angry. But this village is my home. I will do all I can to protect it."

"We can’t keep this to ourselves," Inoichi said, helping Kakashi sit up. "The risk—"

"Tell Lord Third," Tsunade said, her eyes on Inoichi. "No one else. Not the council. Not Danzo. And keep watch on anyone who’s had extended contact with him." She hesitated. "No one else."

"Tsunade-hime!"

Everyone turned. A woman stood in the doorway, her face flushed, breathing heavily. An ANBU operative stood behind her.

"Shizune," Tsunade said, concern lacing her voice. "What is it?"

"Trouble," Shizune said, struggling to catch her breath. "The Uchiha massacre—there are scrolls—scrolls saying it was orchestrated by Lord Third and his council."

The room went still. Shikamaru felt his blood run cold.

"What?" Inoichi and Shikaku said in unison.

"Who is spreading these lies?" Tsunade demanded. "Do we have the culprit?"

Shizune shook her head. "No."

Tsunade’s face hardened. "What do you mean, no?"

"The scrolls were sent to Jōmae Village in the Land of Keys. They sold them to Kumo, Iwa, and Suna. Before we knew it, copies were everywhere. As far as the Land of Iron. West to the Land of Peas. Everywhere, Tsunade-hime."

Tsunade closed her eyes, her face expressionless. "The scroll," she said quietly. "It's just slander—isn't it?"

Shizune said nothing.

"Shizune!"

Shizune swallowed, her voice barely a whisper. "The Hyuga, Akimichi, and Aburame have verified it. All of it. There's a high likelihood—" she paused, looking at Tsunade, her eyes pained. "It's true, Tsunade-hime. The massacre. Lord Third. The council."

Tsunade's face remained impassive, but Shikamaru could see the fury in her eyes, the disappointment. Shikaku and Inoichi looked stricken. Kakashi sighed, lying back down, as if exhausted by it all.

"Belay my previous order," Tsunade said, her fists clenched. "Not a word leaves this room. Not until I say otherwise. Shizune."

"Yes, Tsunade-hime."

"Find Jiraiya. Tell him I need to see him. And get me a copy of that scroll. Now."

"Yes, Tsunade-hime."