The next few days, the training results weren't very promising. The training ground bore the marks of countless failed attempts—scattered leaves, scored earth, and the occasional deep groove in the ground where wind chakra had gone astray.

Creating a new jutsu wasn't as easy as Shin had hoped. Especially with him setting such strict criteria for himself—it was like he was acting as a particularly demanding client, asking for something as contradictory as a brilliantly colorful black.

But he didn't get discouraged or lower his standards. The whole point of creating a new jutsu was to enhance his combat power, so giving up the pursuit of excellence for an easier path would defeat the purpose.

During his frustrations, many members of Akatsuki came to visit and encourage him. Konan even brought him a blue paper flower, similar to the one she wore in her hair, hoping it would lift his spirits.

"For you," she said simply, extending the delicate creation.

Shin examined the paper flower carefully. "Blue... like hope in the rain," he murmured, placing it carefully on his workbench.

Nagato stopped by as well, offering some advice, though honestly, Shin found most of it useless. The Rinnegan's jutsus were blessings from the heavens—or maybe from Madara? They didn't provide much useful guidance for him.

Surprisingly, the person who visited the most was Kaori. Her presence had become a constant in his training routine, like the endless rain of Ame itself.

Though not skilled as a ninja, she chose to stay and care for Shin, preparing his daily meals. She'd often wave her arms around him, bare-shouldered even in winter, trying to tempt him into taking a bite if he was exhausted to recharge his energy.

But honestly, this only created more distractions. In the days since, her once-gaunt face had become fuller, and her thin frame had grown more rounded. And, combined with the added allure of her forbidden role as a friend's young aunt, he found his own discipline sorely tested.

He had to sternly request Kaori to start dressing more warmly for the season, his voice perhaps a bit sharper than necessary.

A few days later, after finishing a mission, Sanda came to the training grounds, seeking Shin's guidance on a few issues. His arrival was a welcome break from the monotony of failed attempts.

"Captain Shin," he suggested, studying the marks of countless practice swings on the ground, "I think you don't need to focus so much on using sheer will to control the jutsu—it's too difficult. My method is to pre-infuse my blade with chakra, then set a rule with hand signs."

"As long as I swing in a set rhythm, the chakra responds automatically and turns to flame."

Automatic responses... of course. Why manually control what can be programmed?

This suggestion instantly sparked an idea for Shin. Eliminate the unnecessary micromanagement and switch to a preset automatic response. This might work.

After all, Scorch Release was a bloodline limit. Though Pakura's method of remotely controlling fireballs with her mind was cool, it was exceptionally hard to learn.

Reflecting on his lofty ambitions, he began discussing the details of an automatic-response jutsu with Sanda, the excitement building in his voice.

"How do you set the rhythm?" he asked, his fingers already tapping unconsciously against his blade's hilt.

"I establish a rhythm based on my usual combat movements. When I follow that rhythm, the chakra on my blade automatically turns to flame."

"To find that rhythm, I usually hum a song in my head while fighting." Sanda demonstrated with a few swings, his blade trailing wisps of flame.

Humming? What song? Baby Shark? No... Shin thought with a wry smile, but he nodded thoughtfully.

He finally grasped the direction he needed. Instead of micromanaging every detail, he could create a rule with a single sign and let chakra flow along that path, leaving his hands free for combat.

The only challenge? Mastering chakra transformation.

With his goal clear, he began his practice. The training ground became his second home, and the pre-dawn darkness his constant companion.

Shin's journey to creating his own jutsu was officially underway.

Members of Akatsuki were soon shocked to notice how intensely he was training. He seemed to be pushing himself to the limit, to the point of nearly neglecting food if Kaori didn't remind him.

Years later, if someone asked him for the secret to creating a new jutsu, Shin would likely respond with a smirk: "Have you ever seen the 3 a.m. dawn in the Land of Rain?"

With the right mindset, a clear plan, and rigorous training, his jutsu development progressed smoothly.

Five days later, he invited Tanaka to test it out.

"Captain, you've mastered it this quickly?" he asked, amazed.

Shin nodded. "Actually, I perfected it two days ago. I've just been fine-tuning it since."

Tanaka was stunned. Developing a jutsu was supposed to be that easy? But then again, this was Shin; he supposed it made sense in an absurd way. He had seen firsthand how his captain's obsessive dedication could produce results others might consider impossible.

"Don't worry," Shin said, drawing his blade. "No genjutsu this time. Just the new jutsu. Go ahead and attack me without holding back."

Usually, Shin's genjutsu left a lasting impression on everyone during sparring matches. Though not lethal, his genjutsu was almost impossible to resist, relying on a dizzying array of deceptive tactics.

Glad to have a rare chance for a non-genjutsu fight, Tanaka drew his sword and rushed toward Shin.

They exchanged a few blows, steel ringing against steel as Shin's short blade blocked Tanaka's overhead strike. In that initial clash, Tanaka thought his captain's movements seemed quite average. Something's different about his movements, but what? Was this new jutsu even working?

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Shin then sidestepped and thrust forward. Tanaka parried with his blade.

Clang!

He felt no significant pressure. There was a light breeze surrounding Shin's blade, enhancing his strikes slightly, but it wasn't a game-changer.

Was this all his new jutsu had to offer? Something's not right. The captain never wastes movement.

Just as he steadied himself and considered counterattacking, the real surprise arrived.

Shin took a half-step back, creating an opening. Holding his short sword to his side, he slashed upward in a powerful upward slice.

A whirlwind erupted from his blade, transforming the training ground into chaos. Sharp wind blades cut through Tanaka's clothes, and he found himself helplessly swept up, disoriented and in pain, with slivers of biting cold around him.

His attempts to regain control were futile against the raw power of the technique.

By the time he regained his senses, he was lying on the ground, his blade fallen from his grasp, clothes reduced to shreds.

"What kind of jutsu is that?" Tanaka asked, stunned, still trying to process what had just happened. He pushed himself up on shaky arms.

Shin twirled his blade and replied, "A preset jutsu. The first two strikes speed up my attacks, while the third summons a powerful cyclone." He paused, studying his handiwork. "I haven't named it yet. What do you think of calling it Tempest Trinity Tornado? Short: Triple T?"

After much discussion, Sanda concluded that while his captain was clever, his taste in naming things left much to be desired

Finally, he suggested a name for Shin's new jutsu: "Wind Style: Triple Flash."

"Actually, I wanted to call it 'Triple Pattern Accelerating Wind Blade: Rising Storm Whirlwind Dance'," Shin muttered, crossing his arms.

Unfortunately, even his idea for Triple T was considered far too avant-garde for the current shinobi world, and so he was unanimously stripped of his naming rights.

This made him think of a character in the original series, one equally ridiculed for his peculiar naming sense: Minato.

And lately, Minato's situation had been anything but comfortable. While Shin debated jutsu names, Konoha faced far graver concerns.

The death of Torune sent ripples through Konoha after a period of silence. Initially, Danzō tried to act as though nothing had happened.

These are temporary setbacks. Root remains effective, he assured himself daily, even as reports piled up on his desk.

As a key member of Root, Torune's absence impacted the organization's operations. Over time, complaints about delayed intelligence reached the village.

In response, Danzō's second attempt was to convince everyone that something may have indeed happened, but that they shouldn't take any action. His words carried less weight now, each assurance met with increasingly skeptical looks.

Out of old friendship, Hiruzen reluctantly trusted his long-time partner once again.

"Handle intelligence properly, Danzō. I don't want to hear any more complaints," he warned, letting him off with a light scolding.

Yet the intelligence gap persisted. Rumors even started to circulate from Suna and Iwa, claiming that Konoha was weakening, losing its former glory. Diplomats whispered in teahouses and market squares, their words carefully chosen but devastating in effect.

"Have you heard? Even the great Konoha struggles to maintain its borders now," a Suna diplomat remarked to his Iwa counterpart, both knowing their words would travel fast.

Shin, of course, had a hand in spreading these rumors.

At this point, Danzō tried a third approach: saying that perhaps action was necessary but claiming they were powerless to act. His usual confidence had begun to crack, showing through in small gestures and hesitations.

Minato in the north could clearly feel the pressure. The future Fourth Hokage moved like a yellow flash between skirmishes, each victory feeling more hollow than the last.

He tried to raise awareness back in the village but saw little response. His reports grew more urgent with each passing day.

"We're spread too thin. We need reinforcements!" Minato's messenger pleaded to the council.

"There are no reinforcements," the council elder stated flatly.

Half a month passed without aid. Then, three days before the new year, an unexpected event occurred. The message arrived with the morning frost, carried by a breathless messenger who burst into the Hokage's office:

"Hokage-sama! Iwa has declared war on us!"

The Third Ninja War reached its full scale. Four of the Five Great Villages had taken sides, with only Kiri remaining neutral.

As Iwa joined forces with Kumo, Konoha found itself pressured from both sides, and Minato's lightning-quick strikes became less about victory and more about saving lives.

Rushing from place to place, firefighting every day. The Yellow Flash's famous technique lit up the northern skies as he tried desperately to hold the line against two major villages.

Even now, Danzō could only say, "Perhaps we should have done something back then, but now it's too late."

This strategy seemed to draw from the finest traditions of certain historical leaders who sidestepped action until it was too late. But other villagers in Konoha weren't buying it.

"Danzō, is this how you handle intelligence? How did Iwa declare war on us without a single hint from you?" The pipe he usually smoked lay forgotten.

"The situation is more complex than you understand," Danzō said.

In fairness, not everything could be blamed on him. The coordinated assault from four great villages seemed almost inevitable, dictated by historical momentum.

Not even the Sage of Six Paths himself could likely change this outcome.

Yet since Root had failed at such a critical juncture, someone had to shoulder the blame, and Hiruzen had already decided it wouldn't be him.

"If Torune's disappearance proves true, then I suggest you personally head to the northern front."

Danzō froze at this suggestion. He wouldn't dare, he thought.

Although he'd had schemes in the original story, even venturing to Ame, that was during the later stages of the war. There was no way he'd willingly rush to the front lines now.

But Konoha's situation had indeed become dire. The streets that were once filled with cheerful villagers now carried a heavy atmosphere of dread.

Even in the original series, this was Konoha's darkest period until Minato and Orochimaru's later victories at Kannabi Bridge and Kikyō Pass turned the tide; and later, with Kiri's entry into the war, things finally improved.

At present, however, none of the villagers in Konoha had the foresight to know that next year—or the year after—things would improve.

A merchant walking past the Hokage Tower muttered to his companion, "If the White Fang hadn't died, maybe we wouldn't be in this mess."

With Shin's interference as a butterfly in the timeline, the current situation was even worse than in the original story.

Many civilians and ninja clans in Konoha were pessimistic and lacked confidence in the war's outcome, a sentiment impossible to ignore. Children no longer played ninja games in the streets, and the Academy training had taken on a grimmer tone.

Faced with this mood, Hiruzen finally abandoned his former leniency, issuing Danzō an ultimatum.

"Go north and help Minato secure the front against Iwa." Hiruzen's voice was firm, leaving no room for negotiation.

"I don't agree. I still need to oversee Root and coordinate intelligence."

"Then I'll have the Uchiha clan join the battle."

"..."

Danzō could barely suppress his frustration at Hiruzen's ultimatum. His fingers dug into his palm beneath his robes, drawing blood. How dare he threaten me with those cursed eyes?

In the original storyline, the Uchihas fought primarily against Kiri, which was the last village to enter the war. This selective deployment suggested Konoha deliberately held them back.

Yet in this altered world, Shin's presence had significantly weakened Hiruzen's strategic thinking. The Hokage sat heavily in his chair, looking older than his years.

Kakashi's interrupted hearing had already shaken the high-level Konoha leadership, and now Root's intelligence failure was worsening the situation.

He needed to restore the village's faith. Lately, he'd been hearing the same sentiment from villagers and shinobi alike: If the White Fang hadn't died three years ago, maybe things wouldn't be so bleak now?

Each time he heard this, he felt a surge of anger towards Danzō.

Three years had nearly erased memories of the White Fang—why did Danzō have to stir up trouble with Kakashi?!

Danzō felt equally wronged: Kakashi's change started after his return from Ame.

I've already sent people to investigate. If I didn't, you'd blame me; when I do, they get killed, and you still blame me!

Am I just destined to be your scapegoat, Hiruzen?

After a long silence, he said, "Then let that cursed clan give their last bit of strength for Konoha." His voice grew quieter. "You've made your choice, Hiruzen."

"Even if I'm gone, Danzō, I'll make sure Minato succeeds me." Hiruzen's words fell like stones in the quiet room.

Danzō rose from his seat, steps measured and unhurried. At the door, he turned enough to see the village through the window behind Hiruzen's desk. Then he left, closing the door softly.

In his empty office, Hiruzen stared out at the village. What have we become?