Chapter 23

Hiruzen's blood clone sat behind his desk, the weight of the reports before him a far greater foe than any shinobi he had faced in his long life. The stack of papers loomed precariously, each page representing hours of painstaking work by some of Konoha's brightest minds. A cup of tea, untouched and lukewarm, sat on the desk beside him, the faint scent of jasmine doing little to ease his mood.

The door opened with a quiet creak, and his secretary stepped in. Aiko, with her neat bun and pristine uniform, carried a tray with fresh tea, her movements efficient and practiced. She placed it gently on the desk, the porcelain clinking faintly.

Hiruzen didn't look up, his focus glued to the reports. A few weeks ago, he'd assigned audits to Asuma, Ibiki, and Kakashi, asking them to examine the village's systems from their unique perspectives. For variety, he'd requested grievances from the clan heads via a "Doléance Cahier" and had Shikaku conduct an assessment of the Academy. The idea had been to gather a treasure trove of insights from Konoha's best and brightest minds.

He had been excited. Eager, even.

And now? He sighed, a sound that carried years of disappointment and a growing headache. Setting the papers down with a thud, he leaned back and rubbed his temples.

The reports were terrible. Shitty, even.

"Do you have any other orders, Lord Hokage?" Aiko asked softly, her voice breaking through his thoughts. She stood at attention, hands clasped in front of her. Hiruzen looked at her for the first time in hours. Her uniform was crisp, her hair immaculately arranged, her presence the only thing in this office that seemed in control. He sighed again, softer this time, shaking his head.

"No, Aiko. Everything is fine. Take a break. You've more than earned it."

Her eyes widened slightly at the rare acknowledgment, a faint smile flickering across her face. "Thank you, Lord Hokage," she said with a small bow before leaving as quietly as she'd entered.

As the door closed, Hiruzen's gaze lingered on the stack of papers. She deserved that break. For months now, he'd been consumed with experiments in the lab, covert dealings with ANBU, and the never-ending politicking with the clan heads and Danzo. Aiko had taken on the village's administrative chaos almost entirely on her own, while his shadow clone rubber-stamped approvals without bothering to read a single word.

Hiruzen picked up the next report from the stack and scanned its contents. The more he read, the stranger it became. The men behind these reports—Asuma, Kakashi, Ibiki—were undeniably brilliant. Their observations were laser-sharp, their deductions incisive, and their intuitions almost unnervingly accurate. Each report was a masterpiece of tactical thinking, filled with clever solutions to immediate problems.

But from a broader, strategic perspective? A long-term view? They were dreadful.

How could they be so good and yet so bad at the same time? It wasn't just perplexing—it was revealing. The answer, once Hiruzen thought about it, was obvious.

Two elements, he thought, setting the papers down.

The first was education—or rather, the lack of it. These were men who had spent a few years in school learning basic reading, writing, and the foundational techniques of shinobi life before being thrown headlong into war. Their true education had been on the battlefield. They were, in essence, highly functioning geniuses—likely a byproduct of chakra-enhanced neural plasticity and heightened cognitive processing—that had, academically speaking, stopped their formal education somewhere around the middle-school level. After that? They'd "learned by doing." Trial, error, and survival had been their primary instructors.

This was true of almost all shinobi, Hiruzen realized. Specialists like cryptanalysts or medics might receive additional training in mathematics or psychology, but those exceptions were rare. His shinobi, for all their brilliance, were essentially highly skilled, superpowered high school dropouts.

Even the best among them—Kakashi, Asuma, Shikaku—excelled in their respective domains because of raw talent, intuition, and immediate thinking. They were better than Hiruzen in those respects, no question. But when it came to systems thinking? To crafting a cohesive, long-term vision for a society? They faltered. Shikaku was marginally better, likely because leading a clan and the Jōnin Commander's duties required some degree of holistic thinking, but even he fell short of true strategic insight.

Then there was the second problem: knowledge. And this wasn't just about a lack of schooling. History was littered with examples of brilliant minds—Aristotle, Jean Bodin—who had proposed ideas that, in hindsight, were fundamentally flawed. But those flaws hadn't been due to a lack of intelligence; they'd been limited by the cumulative nature of knowledge itself. You couldn't build a skyscraper if no one had yet invented the ladder.

Hiruzen sighed, rubbing his temples. He couldn't fault his shinobi for proposing reforms that were incoherent, inflationary, or outright fantastical. After all, the concept of inflation—let alone its causes—was barely understood by even the most erudite scholars of the current era. These shortcomings weren't personal failings but systematic ones, rooted in a world where violence often spoke louder than knowledge.

And that, he thought grimly, was likely no coincidence. A society defined by its constant wars and cycles of destruction would always be more interested in raising warriors than thinkers. Or…what if the causality was reversed?

He leaned back, staring at the ceiling for a long moment.

"So, what do I do with ten thousand superpowered high school dropouts?"

And something nagged at him — if the state of the science was so bad, what could explain the cinemas ? The RMIs ?

— — — —

Sarutobi Compound

Sasuke inhaled deeply, holding the breath for a moment before releasing it in a measured exhale. The ANBU who had escorted him vanished in a body flicker, leaving behind only the faint disturbance in the air. Alone now, Sasuke stood still, his gaze locked on the wooden door in front of him.

He lifted his fist and knocked, the sound unnaturally loud against the oppressive quiet.

The second option. He had taken it.

It was everything he had ever dreamed of. The Hokage had offered him the chance to apprentice under a legendary ninja. Not just any ninja, either—one of the strongest in the village, someone who might even rival the Sannin in sheer ability. An ANBU captain. Under this figure, Sasuke would receive personal training in combat, ninjutsu, strategy—everything he needed to achieve his goals. The Hokage had even hinted that this mentor could help him fully awaken and master his Sharingan.

For a fleeting moment, Sasuke had wondered—could it be Kakashi?

He'd pressed Shikamaru for answers, knowing the lazy genius was knowledgeable about such things. The sleepy boy had hesitated before admitting that Kakashi was indeed known as Sharingan no Kakashi. Sasuke had been floored. The revelation drove him to confront Kakashi directly, demanding answers in his usual way: fists first, words second.

The Hokage was right. His anger was his greatest enemy.

Kakashi hadn't retaliated, though. He hadn't even looked annoyed. With a rare seriousness, he'd deflected Sasuke's blows and sighed—a weary, heavy sound. In that moment, Sasuke saw something in his teacher he hadn't recognized before. Kakashi had explained the Sharingan, his connection to it, and the pain it carried. For the first time, Sasuke had seen his teacher as more than an infuriating taskmaster. Kakashi was broken, too. Different, but broken all the same.

But the Hokage's offer came with conditions. Three, to be exact. Break any of them, and the dream would vanish. Sasuke would find himself assigned to a standard genin team with Sakura and Ino under the supervision of a combat-averse infiltration specialist. The thought alone made his stomach churn.

Now, standing in front of the door, those conditions played on repeat in his mind, the weight of them as heavy as any boulder he'd ever trained under.

The first condition: therapy. Twice a week. No excuses. Sasuke had balked at first. He wasn't weak, he wasn't broken. But the Hokage's words stayed with him: "You don't fix this, Sasuke, and you'll become your father. Or worse, you'll raise another Itachi." He'd had only two sessions so far, and they were grueling, like dragging shattered glass out of his chest. But... there was something there. Relief, maybe. Or at least the potential for it.

The second condition was even stranger. "If you want to understand love," the Hokage had said, "you must first give it. Be compassionate. Listen." Sasuke had felt the air drain from the room as the Hokage explained. His new sensei wasn't just a great ninja. He was also, in the Hokage's words, broken beyond belief. Sasuke's first mission wasn't to simply learn from this person but to give them something back. "Not obedience," the Hokage had said. "Friendship. Humanity."

The idea that this could be a mission, an official one, baffled Sasuke. It felt too abstract, too strange. But the Hokage's wisdom was undeniable, even if Sasuke couldn't fully grasp it yet.

And then there was the third condition.

The door opened.

Lastly, the Hokage had said, "You'll move out of the Uchiha compound. ANBU life is isolating. You need to socialize with peers, not just train with older shinobi. I'll foster you in a house with another orphan, under the care of a retired jōnin."

Sasuke had protested at first. He didn't need fostering. He was an adult—or close enough! Thirteen was old enough to live alone. But the promise of apprenticeship in Anbu, like Itachi, had silenced his objections. And…it was better than in a team.

His heart stopped at the sight before him.

Standing in the doorway was Naruto Uzumaki, barefoot, wearing a loose shirt and shorts, his wild blond hair even more unkempt than usual. He blinked at Sasuke, then scowled.

"What are you doing at my house, you bastard?" Naruto demanded, his voice brash and unmistakably irritated.

Sasuke froze, trying to process what he was seeing. Naruto? Naruto?!

"You…" Sasuke started, his composure cracking as he stared in disbelief. "You're the orphan?"

Naruto crossed his arms, his glare sharpening. "Yeah, I'm an orphan, what of it? And what the hell are you doing here?"

Sasuke's pride flared, and for a moment, he wanted to lash out, to snap back with a cutting retort.

But the Hokage's voice echoed in his mind: "Compassion. Listen."

This was going to be harder than he thought.

— — — —

Anko Mitarashi darted across Konoha's rooftops with the kind of reckless energy that made civilians turn away nervously and ninja mutter prayers of gratitude that she wasn't their problem today. A stick of dango bobbed between her teeth, the sweet and savory glaze dripping onto her lips as she leapt from tile to tile. Her trench coat, short and barely functional, flared with every jump, teasing glimpses of her fishnet bodysuit beneath.

Anko's fishnet bodysuit was less clothing and more a challenge to anyone trying not to stare. It hugged her body with shameless precision, every movement highlighting the sculpted strength of her muscular thighs as they tensed and flexed with each leap. Her hips swayed naturally with her stride, the mesh tracing the sharp dip of her waist and the powerful curve of her belly, where the faint lines of her abs caught the light. The taut fabric framed her form with precision, emphasizing the kind of physique that turned heads whether she was running rooftops or skewering enemies.

Her chest was a feat of ninja ingenuity—and a constant source of entertainment for her. A subtle trickle of chakra ensured her nipples stayed glued to the bodysuit, an exercise in control that only a shinobi as eccentric as Anko would even think to master. A lot more difficult than the leaf exercise. And because of that, she had one hell of a chakra control. It wasn't modesty, of course; in battle, when her concentration shifted and the chakra flow dropped, the result was as distracting as it was effective. A well-timed flash had thrown more than a few enemies off their game, their hesitation lasting just long enough for her to bury a kunai in their throats. She'd call it practical if it weren't so much fun. Her trench coat, short and casual, swished behind her, barely covering the firm roundness of her ass. The fishnet left nothing to the imagination, the fabric framing the muscle and motion beneath with daring accuracy. Her entire form seemed built to provoke a reaction, and if anyone underestimated her because of it, well, they didn't live long enough to regret it.

Her violet hair, cut wild and uneven, bounced with each leap. Her lips, still sticky with dango glaze, curled into a grin as she approached her destination: a modest restaurant, its façade hiding one of the many secret entrances to the Torture and Interrogation Unit.

Landing with a flourish, she wiped the glaze from her lips with her thumb and sauntered inside, pushing the door open with unnecessary force. The corridor stretched ahead, narrow and dimly lit, leading to the depths of Konoha's most feared department.

"Evening, cutie," she purred at the security chunin stationed near the entrance. She tossed him a wink, and the poor man's eyes widened as he fumbled with his clipboard, his knuckles whitening. He knew the stories about her—everyone did. Anko's grin widened at his reaction. She loved scaring the small fry. It was too easy, but it never got old.

The heavy door to the meeting room loomed ahead. Without bothering to knock, she shoved it open with her usual flair.

"Yo, Scarybiki!" she called out, her voice bright and teasing as she entered the room.

Ibiki Morino barely glanced up. His expression, as always, was carved from stone, and his voice came out in the same gravelly monotone. "Mitarashi."

She grinned and looked around, taking in the rest of the room. Her eyes landed on Kakashi Hatake first, who was leaning against the wall with his ever-present orange book. He tilted his head slightly.

But it wasn't Kakashi who caught her attention next. No, it was the man standing just a few feet away.

Hiroto Sarutobi. The Legendary Dragon. Maskless.

Her grin faltered for a split second as she processed what she was seeing. Hiroto, out of ANBU? And without his signature mask? His angular features were sharper than she'd imagined, his piercing eyes giving him an air of authority that could probably make most men faint on the spot. But that wasn't all. There was someone else.

Her gaze shifted to the fourth man in the room, and her grin widened into something predatory.

The man stood tall, broad-shouldered, and undeniably attractive. Around thirty, maybe her age, he carried himself with a confidence that wasn't forced. His dark hair was cropped neatly, his sharp jawline softened slightly by a faint five o'clock shadow. The sleeveless jōnin vest revealed arms that were all muscle—cords of power that hinted at years of combat and training. His stance was casual, but his presence screamed dangerous. He looked surprisingly like a mix of Hiroto and Asuma, with an edge that made her thoughts wander into all kinds of inappropriate territory.

"Hmm," she purred, tilting her head as she walked toward him. "Naughty, naughty Hokage. He had a secret son, and no one told me? Shame."

Her words hung in the air, and she didn't stop there. Reaching out, she gave the stranger's pectoral a playful pinch, her grin widening. "Too bad you were hidden away, handsome. I could've shown you a good time."

Kakashi snorted loudly, choking on a laugh as he tried to cover his reaction with his book. Ibiki, predictably, remained stoic.

Hiroto, however, was a sight to behold. His face turned ghostly pale, his mouth opening and closing in a helpless sputter. Words failed him entirely as his composure crumbled.

"What… what did she just say?!" Hiroto finally managed, his voice cracking slightly as he looked between Anko and the stranger.

Anko just grinned, patting the stranger's chest with the back of her hand and stepping back with a cheeky wink. "Relax, sweetheart. Just having a little fun."

The man responded with a booming laugh, his deep, gravelly voice reverberating through the room. The sound hit her low in her belly, and damn it, it sent an uninvited shiver straight down to places she'd rather not admit. She swallowed hard, willing herself to keep the grin plastered on her face, but her body betrayed her with a faint shiver that had nothing to do with the temperature.

"Anko," Ibiki said, his voice sharp and edged with warning.

Her grin faltered. That tone. She knew that tone. Even she had limits, and Ibiki's was a line she only crossed when she felt like rolling the dice.

"This," Ibiki continued, his stern gaze fixed on her, "is Sura."

"Hi, Handsome," she purred, her flirtatiousness undeterred, her voice dripping with exaggerated sweetness. "Nice to meet—"

She stopped mid-sentence, her words trailing off as she caught Kakashi in her peripheral vision. The silver-haired jōnin was slouched against the wall, his face half-hidden behind his little orange book. Except now, his shoulders were shaking with barely contained laughter, his eye crinkled in that maddeningly smug way of his.

Her grin faltered further. "What's so funny, Hatake?"

Kakashi waved a hand dismissively, his snickering muffled behind his mask. "Oh, nothing. Just enjoying the show."

Anko's eyes darted back to Ibiki, whose expression had shifted from impassive to something colder, sharper. She could see it in his eyes—a warning. Stop now. Right now. Or there will be consequences.

She straightened slightly, rolling her shoulders as she forced her grin back into place. "All right, fine. What's the big deal? New guy's a looker. Sue me."

"This is Sura," Ibiki repeated, his voice slower, heavier, as though he were preparing to drop a kunai of truth right in her lap. "Your new commanding officer."

Anko blinked. "Huh?"

Before she could process it, the man—Sura, apparently—stepped forward, his grin wide and wolfish. "That's right, Mitarashi," he said, his voice like gravel sliding down a steel chute. "You're leaving T&I. Effective immediately."

She opened her mouth, then closed it, her brain scrambling for a response. "Wait, leaving? Like… now? Where the hell am I going?"

"With me," Sura replied, his grin turning sharper, more predatory. "We're heading outside the village. Time to stretch those legs and put that sharp little brain of yours to work."

"Doing what?" she asked, suspicion creeping into her tone.

His grin widened. "Oh, nothing too strenuous. Just playing a bit. You know… skewering some A-ranked nins, and maybe taking over a country while we're at it."

Anko's grin returned in full force, her unease fading under the weight of her excitement. "Now you're speaking my language."