Updated 1/26/25

"Light and shadow are opposite sides of the same coin. We can illuminate our paths or darken our way, it is a matter of choice."

- Maya Angelou

Fire terrorized the streets, its wild flames scorching at the crumbling buildings. Everything was breaking. People were panicking, but the crackling fire drowned their screams. Buildings toppled over, and people were dying. Blood soaked the dirt paths and narrow alleyways, the once peaceful village now harbored by a devil.

No one saw this coming. Even the bravest people were now fleeing with whatever they had left. Those who attempted to help did little to stop the damage and the demon wreaking havoc. The beast was a manifestation of pure evil, its presence suffocating, its gravity casting a shadow over anything and everything.

Amidst the destruction, the third hokage aided the frightened and injured, disregarding his own. Blood cascaded from the deep gash above his right-eye, blurring his already precarious vision. Despite the wreckage, he could hear everyone's desperate pleas for help all around him. With each step he took, the ground beneath him was littered with severed limbs and remnants of dried blood, their macabre presence assaulting his nostrils and causing his eyes to sting.

Toppled buildings laid where he frequently visited, the families he knew most likely underneath, the children they bore dead cause of his incompetence. Somber memories weighed on his shoulders, his back growing heavier. Protecting the village was his duty, and the longer he hesitated, the more lives would be lost. Despite his age and all his accomplishments, defeating this demon was anything short of a miracle, but he would try even if he had to crawl out of the underworld over and over again.

Embers burned his cheek as he rushed through the destruction. His hat, previously perched on his waist, fell gracefully through the air into the never-ending fire. Tears welled in his eyes, the smoke invading his body, his lips quivering in the face of it all. This was his home, and he would never give it up.

The closer he got, the more his mind clouded with despair, the scene before child's play to what he was looking at now. The deafening roar of the demon blew him back into a wall, a large dust cloud passing by as he shielded himself. Fear slowly crept into his mind from the depths, and he found himself on the ground, trembling. He swallowed dryly, unable to wet his parched throat. Sweat poured from his forehead, moistening his hands as he tried to stand. Every fiber in his body screamed at him to run away and save himself, but could he call himself a hokage if he did that?

"We need to evacuate!" Someone tried to pull him back, their voice numb to his ears. "Our forces are trying to contain the general area!" A high-pitched ringing filled his ears, a terrifying sound that made him wonder if he'd sustained permanent hearing damage or if it was just the manifestation of his fear. Nonetheless, he pushed the young man to the side, pushing his way through the dust. Hiruzen Sarutobi's gaze didn't waver as he moved towards the demon, laying waste to his beloved village. Chakra covered his hands as he clapped, dispersing the dust in the general area. "If you're able to move, taking any injured comrade away from the battlefield," he yelled with all his strength, picking up some metal pole from the floor.

Chakra surged through his feet, and with a deep breath, he leaped into the air, his brown eyes settling on the beast in its glory. Dirt and grime covered his face, his heart beating violently as he propelled himself forward. There was a saying, once someone crossed the boundary of death, they would awaken into something new. "HERE I COME!" He bellowed; his voice drowned out by the Nine-tails presence.

Winter Saturday, 8:37 pm

x11 ANT (Eleven years after Nine Tails)

Almost a decade had passed since the subjugation of the tailed beast, yet Hiruzen failed to restore the village's former honor and his fear. His efforts only worsened the impact on the hidden leaf village, leaving him with baseless promises that held no weight. Despite his heroism, some people looked at him like a laughingstock, and as desperate as he was, he ventured into the treasury, selling valuable scrolls, history, and origins.

He struggled to stand, using the cane next to his squeaky chair to support himself as the blinding sunrise momentarily overwhelmed his good eye. Konoha was at its lowest point, with him afraid to part with any more valuables, despite the dwindling number of passing merchants. Everything was his fault, and as his condition worsened, so did Konoha. He wanted to live to see the village prosper and thrive, but as time ticked, he felt he wouldn't see the next four years.

People joked that on certain maps, the village was a wasteland for the taking. They were at the bottom of the barrel, paying neighboring villages for protection. Swallowing, the old man leaned against the crooked window, clutching his side. Despite the dire situation, he kept his lips sealed, fearing the irreversible damage that worry would cause. The villagers relied on him, and his name and legacy were on the brink of destruction. The once-famed 'God of Shinobi' now struggled to use to the bathroom and stand.

He heard the rumors, and it sickened him. It started as a joke but kept going; the malice growing with the joke. People began calling this place the hidden wasteland where nothing thrived since the attack. Even tourists feared approaching, as entering the village seemed to guarantee failure. It was a depressing reality.

"Father," a man appeared in a cloud of smoke. His gait stiffened, a visible effort to maintain composure. "We've done the math, and unless something changes, this will be our last batch of young shinobi." Asuma Sarutobi chose not to yell, understanding that it would be counterproductive. Even now, he couldn't meet his father's gaze, their conversation diminishing. It was daunting, and he blamed himself. During the brutal battle with the Nine-Tails, the searing chakra and the earth-shattering blows left his father partially blind, and his leg permanently crippled; his body bore scars of the monstrous beast.

Hiruzen twisted slowly, exhaling in pain as his leg stiffened again. "What are you trying to say?" he asked, the dark circles under his eyes making his son hesitate.

With the current trajectory, they would be lucky to survive another three years. The gravity of the situation relied heavily on him. "We should gamble everything we have on this generation. I know many renowned clans have left, but with what we have, we hope to participate in each exam this time around."

Contemplating the answer, Hiruzen shook his head slowly, deep in thought. A few years prior, the decision to stop sending children to the exams was made; the horrifying ordeal of a young shinobi, sent the previous year and subjected to brutal torture, had prompted the change. The family was rightfully angry, and he had to make that choice. "Before I come to a conclusion, I'll need to see some progress." It was an undeniable truth that, with more hands, the village could thrive.

"Trust me," he said firmly, "and everyone else who stayed loyal. We won't let everything be in vain." Asuma was well aware of the situation, having discovered it in his father's journal. The weight of the Hokage's burden would eventually become his downfall, taking with it the rich legacy of the Hidden Leaf. He left the room, the pack of cigarettes crinkling in his hand. With a practiced motion, he placed one between his lips and lit it, the smell of burning tobacco filling the air. No matter how much his father pushed, the weight of everyone's hope rested on these children. If they found out the burden they were going to carry, would they continue or break under pressure? With a flick of his wrist, he released the build-up of smoke, and it dispersed with a gentle wave of his hand. Anyone loyal to this village would be fighting this impossible battle from the start, and he knew it, too. He had learned from his father to never back down.

Winter Monday, 10:20 am

x11 ANT

Coughing, Iruka waved his hand, dispersing the swirling dust clouds around him. The chalk, dry and powdery, felt rough against his fingertips as he struggled to grip it firmly. Opening his worn-out journal, he heard the faint rustle of the pages as he flipped to a blank one; the sound echoing in the empty classroom. With a slight shiver, he jotted down today's lesson plan, the scratch of the pen on the paper providing a momentary distraction from his swirling thoughts. He vowed never the drink again for the millionth time. Every time he had a sip or liquor, he became bold and, in the morning; he endured a raging hangover most of the time.

Exhaling, he wrote his plans for the next few years, as he wrote, he couldn't help but feel a sense of emptiness, knowing deep down that he would never truly follow through with these plans. Yet, he couldn't break away from this ritual. Even when he woke up in the middle of nowhere, he found time to do this meaningless task. Well, one thing was certain: he believed there was no future here. Each time he wrote, he had the same thoughts. The only difference this time around was placing his trust in Asuma's drunk ass plan for whatever that was worth.

The night's conversation with his drinking buddy still echoed in his mind, the words lingering like the taste of warm alcohol. "Putting our faith in a bunch of children is… disgusting." The chalk twirled aimlessly in his hand as he contemplated his situation.

Placing their hopes solely on these young children was dangerous and stupid, the bitter memory of that incident from years ago still giving him nightmares. The guilt he carried from that day forced him to become something he hated during that time. Still, someone needed to show the next generation the true meaning of the Will of Fire, but he couldn't shake the feeling this would be the last generation Konoha would see.

Laughing dryly, he wondered how the children would feel if they knew the responsibility they had. Would it crush their spirits or empower them? Well, on the off chance they rose above expectation, then they would become the true carriers of Konoha's future.

"Ugh, maybe a drink would help clear my mind," he muttered to himself, seeking solace in the thought of temporary escape. Opening the creaky door, he stepped out into the hallway, the scent of dust and cigarettes filling his nostrils. His heart wanted to commit to these children and teaching them, but his mind wouldn't let him. Iruka knew himself the best, and he knew if another heart-wrenching situation happened he would snap. If he witnessed someone so young, someone he poured his heart into return in pieces with carvings in their skin, he would kill those involved and then himself.

These children needed someone strong, someone who could guide them through the wicked world they were about to enter. "They have what, a year? Maybe two?" He struggled to remember when the graduation exam would take place, resisting the urge to rummage through his drawer for his emergency liquor. "I lost that spark years ago." Frustration welled up inside him, and he couldn't help but release it by slamming the back of his head against the wall, letting out a heavy sigh as memories from last night invaded his mind.

"Hard work or talent?" The question lingered in the air, a faint chuckle escaping his lips. "You have talent! I had to work my ass off to get where I'm at," Iruka pointed awkwardly at his drinking buddy, a mixture of admiration and envy in his eyes. "You were born with this overwhelming amount of talent, the golden spoon. I had to eat with my bare hands!" He understood the struggles faced by those without natural gifts, a challenge that only ordinary people could truly comprehend. It was like building a small shop, toiling away for years, only for it to turn a profit far too late.

"I worked hard. Sometimes I even considered giving up." Watching Asuma down his third drink, Iruka couldn't help but shake his head, leaning back into the seat as the alcohol settled in his stomach.

Peeling the delicate skin of the bamboo cup, Iruka found himself lost in his metaphor, the soft strands unraveling like his thoughts. "That woman broke up with me because I couldn't please her." It was off topic, but he couldn't control what came out of his mouth anymore. Watching his drinking buddy turn and laugh, he sunk deeper into his thoughts. He could almost hear the faint rustle as the skin separated from the cup, a sound that mirrored the unraveling of his doubts. "People have limits," he murmured, his glassy and unfocused eyes staring into the distance. "Not everyone is born into some prestigious clan, blessed with a sturdy foundation and a secret to please all women." The words hung in the air, heavy with the weight of his own experiences.

Lifting the vibrant green cup, he winced as the burning sensation radiated through his throat; the heat searing into his body as the drink settled.

"Are you mad she broke up with you… or at yourself for not overcoming that wall?" Asuma asked.

"Both? Neither? I don't fucking know."

"Iruka, I think those with hard work can achieve just as much, if not more, than those with undeniable talent," Asuma interjected, before downing the rest of his cup. He had always been one to rely on his overwhelming talent, unable to fully grasp the struggles faced by others.

Iruka sighed, the sound shaky and laden with grief. "Lily, Jaren, Toku," he whispered the names carrying a weight he couldn't shake off. "Those were my students, and now they cannot learn ninjutsu again. They faced someone who possessed overwhelming talent, and they were swallowed whole." His breath trembled as he let it out, the alcohol he had consumed warming his chest, temporarily numbing the pain.

Asuma shook his head, clearing his throat, "I understand," he breathed, trying to understand. There was more to this topic than the simple debate of hard work versus talent, and they both knew it. But if he was to get hung up on the past, how could he face the future? "Everything is going to be taken from us. We are in debt, and people don't want to hire us. Everything is riding on these students. All I'm asking is for this last batch of genin to prevail. Don't let the past hold you down."

He knew Asuma was right. They had become a laughingstock, and their reputation was at the bottom. It had been years since anyone from Konoha had made a name for themselves in the Chunin exams. "If I'm being honest, it's talent or duds in this class." Conceding to the male, he looked around for the next bottle. "You want to gamble on the Jinchūriki, and everyone else?" He couldn't help but feel torn, the fear and guilt of seeing others push themselves through hell only to fall echoing in his mind.

"It's all we have left," Asuma declared, reaching for a cigarette and fumbling in his pockets for a lighter. "The armory is nearly empty, and the Third Hokage will never dip into those forbidden scrolls again. We will have to give it everything we have. I've already asked some friends to take a cell, and they agreed only after scouting. If we fall now, what will be left?"

His bleary eyes watched drowsily as Asuma fumbled and curse out loud, his hands desperately searching around. The classroom seemed hazy and distant to him, the annoying voices and faint scent of liquor lingering in the air. "I haven't been entirely paying attention to this class," he confessed, closing his eyes. "Whenever I see them fooling around, I can't help but remember the defeated faces on my previous students' faces when they returned. One of them couldn't even walk properly, and the others came back in a coffin." Licking his dry lips, he opened his eyes, his gaze darting around. "Everyone knows the risks, but our village's reputation puts a target on their back."

"Believe me buddy, I know damn well there is a bright red target." Asuma's lip parted as smoke left his mouth. "You wouldn't believe the questions I'm asked. 'Is the Hidden Leaf still standing?' 'Are you proud to be part of a dying village?' 'How can a village thrive when their hokage is a eunuch?'" Blowing the smoke away, Asuma placed his lighter on the table. "It's too late for us to change anything, but maybe... just maybe, these kids can carry Konoha forward."

"We only have a small window of opportunity, a year or two," He acknowledged, knowing it was too late to truly make amends for neglecting these students. But even if he had to push himself beyond his limits, he was determined to give it his all. "I will assess their talents and dedication, placing some in the category of gifted and others in the latter." Rising from his seat, he locked eyes with Asuma. "If this fails, this will make us outcasts if everyone ever finds out."

"Fortunately, I'm already an outcast," Asuma quipped, a small smile playing on his lips.

Iruka pinched the bridge of his nose, the headache throbbing behind his eyes as the drunken memories echoed in his mind. "What is wrong with me?" No one needed to know his personal business, but he was the idiot that loved drinking. Even so, he agreed to help as much as his limited capabilities allowed.

The problem in Konoha was that it had a criminal issue, resulting in a division of the land into two parts: the upper-side and the lower-side. Although eradicating the lower side was never a problem, surprisingly, no one ever attempted to do so. Perhaps the residents had a fondness for the brothels and fights that were hosted there, but even that alone was not enough to explain the lack of action. It was more probable that the hokage was receiving funds from them, which was why certain individuals never dared to venture into the upper sides.

Well, it would be a good learning exercise for the children, maybe it had its uses.

Winter Monday, 11:24 pm

People cheered as the two drugged-up men fought sloppily. The pot was hefty, and the night barely started. Drinks were being passed around, and people were having a good time. Everyone needed a release from hell, and this was the perfect thing. Sure, some bandits got tried to overstay, and some shady people would make deals here, but they were still inside of Konoha, people were not dumb. They would take care of anything that happened as swiftly as possible. That's how they maintained peace. Even sliding money under the table seemed to calm people down. That's how an organization should run.

The men got on the ground, and it turned into a wrestling match, people cheering and throwing cash at the display. This place was heaven to some; they had entertainment and drinks. They had order most of all, if someone got out of line, they would face the consequences. As the fight ended, the victories man stood, some people cheering and others throwing a fit. The beaten man was quickly ushered out of the dirt ring and placed on a metal table in the back.

A boy, seemingly not yet in puberty, his white hair bouncing, straightened his gloves. This was his job, fixing up anyone that came through during the night. The pay was good, and it gave him an opportunity to practice his skills. He didn't question who came through or if they were fighting in the ring. He just performed his paid duties. As he placed the mask over his face, he carefully examined the bruised body of the man, who incessantly groaned, becoming a nuisance. With his violet eyes shifting from the body to a medical book, he warned, "Sorry in advance. If you scream too loudly, I'll break your windpipe," as he covered his hands in chakra. Blood hit his eye as he began the procedure.

After the painstakingly long procedure, the boy left the room, allowing the helpers to attend to the man. He discarded the bloody gloves and stained mask into the nearest trash can before taking a seat at the boss's table. A shit-eating grin spread across his face as he extended his hand. "Geez, hold on. You know how things work here, kiddo," the graying man responded, motioning to a woman who promptly placed a wallet filled with cash on the table. "The night is still young. How about you drop out and work with me full-time, Fuko?"

The young boy counted the payment, his brows furrowing as he shook his head in disbelief. He hated being around this old man. It always smelled of stale cigarette smoke and musty old furniture. "We have something good here… why ruin it?"

As the old man towered over the boy, his presence seemed to suffocate the small space. "There's money to be made around the world, and some people here have taken a liking to you. Otherwise, I'll kidnap you while you're walking home and sell you to some poor sucker." The boy could feel the weight of the old man's words, like a heavy hand pressing down on his shoulders. He could almost taste the bitterness in the air, a bitter reminder of who he was talking to.

Fuko, with a raised brow, stared at the old man. The room suddenly felt colder, as if a chilling breeze had swept through. The sound of their conversation seemed to fade into the background, replaced by a faint ringing in his ears. "Seems you forgot who got rid of the old boss. Stop with these useless threats. We've discussed this. As long as you pay me for what I do, I'll help. But if you overstep that boundary, who knows? Maybe you'll wake up with your head in my lap?" The messy man-bun unraveled as he stood, his hair falling to his shoulders.

Everyone around was on guard, the women around the boss ready to strike at any moment. "You grew up in this world. I made this world you sure you can handle the fall back?"

"Fucking retard, I'm a student at the school," Fuko retorted, as he stuffed the wallet in his pocket, the action accompanied by a faint rustling sound. Moving towards the door, he added, "As soon as you cross that line, your head will roll in the dirt." A smug smirk played on his lips as he spoke. "You know where to find me if another fight starts!"

"That kid has a smart mouth on him. I hate it."

Skipping outside, Fuko cut through the line of people waiting to get in. The smell of cheap perfume and cologne wafted in the air, slightly pissing him off. The scent mingled with the faint aroma of alcohol and cigarette smoke, creating an unpleasant combination. Anyone who came here for pleasure was just as dumb as the boss to him. Instead of saving to leave this horrid village, they spent their time drinking, gambling, and hoping for some 'playtime', as people called it.

Well, he wasn't no better, if anything, he was part of the cancerous cell. But unlike them, he could remove himself from the situation with ease, even if that meant losing his source of income. However, his priority lay with his mother, and every coin he earned was crucial for her well-being.