The evening sun hung low over the winding hill road outside Konoha. The driver of the Six Paths Shipping van—an older man named Goro—tapped his fingers against the wheel, humming lowly to himself as he navigated the curves.

His shift had started late. The boss had been in a bad mood all day, barking at everyone in the warehouse, snapping at his underlings. Usually, for a route like this, Goro would have security trailing behind him—a sleek black car filled with mean-looking mercs who weren't afraid to shoot first and ask later.

But today? Nothing. No backup. No muscle.

Just him, the road, and a shipment he didn't ask questions about.

"Cheap bastards," Goro muttered, adjusting his rearview mirror. He reached for a cigarette, wedging it between his teeth, but before he could light it...

The hell?

His foot slammed the brake pedal, tires screeching against the pavement. A black sedan was parked across the road, blocking his path.

Goro's brows furrowed as his hands tightened on the wheel. His first thought was that some idiot had broken down at the worst possible place. But then, as his brain caught up to his instincts, he realized something was wrong.

Way too wrong.

The car wasn't just stalled... it was parked there deliberately.

And then—Rustling.

From the thick trees lining the road, two figures emerged from the undergrowth, stepping into the dying sunlight.

Both were clad in dark clothes, masks covering their faces. They moved with a purpose that sent a cold chill down Goro's spine.

Then—the glint of metal. A Pistol.

His breath hitched. Oh, shit.

His hand scrambled for his phone on the passenger seat. If he could just—

Click. A gun was leveled at his head.

"Don't," a low voice warned.

Goro froze.

The man holding the pistol was calm, but his eyes betrayed no hesitation. "Step out," he ordered.

Goro exhaled through his nose, gripping the wheel tighter. He swallowed, then slowly turned his head to get a better look.

The guy was wearing a simple black hoodie and a plain mask. No insignia. No markings. Just calm, cold eyes staring down at him from behind the gun.

Goro clenched his jaw, forcing a smirk. "Do you have any idea who you're messing with?"

No response.

He pushed further. "You rob me, and my boss is gonna have you skinned alive. Do you know who the fuck we work for? Who we're protected by?"

The man didn't even flinch. Instead, he started counting.

"Three."

Goro stiffened.

"Two."

His pulse hammered in his ears.

"One."

That was it. He wrenched the door open and stepped out, his hands raised. There was no use dying for a shipment.

"Smart man," the masked man muttered.

The second figure—leaner, probably younger—stepped forward. This one was holding a knife, twirling it absently in his gloved hand. His voice was lower, more youthful.

"Keys," he ordered.

Goro gritted his teeth but didn't argue. He pulled the keyring from his pocket and tossed it. The younger one caught it smoothly, twirling it around his finger before giving a sharp nod.

"On the ground," the first man commanded. "Hands on your head."

Goro hesitated. "Come on, man..."

The gun angled lower. No room for negotiation.

Slowly, Goro lowered himself onto the gravel, fingers lacing behind his head.

He heard the van doors open. Heard the shuffling of bodies climbing inside. The engine roared to life, the heavy vehicle shifting as it rolled forward. The van sped off, disappearing over the crest of the hill.

Goro stayed there, kneeling on the cold ground, breath shallow.

The night was settling in, and with it, the weight of what had just happened.

He had just been robbed. And he was still alive.

His hands clenched into fists. His boss was going to kill him.

Kizashi Haruno sat in his office, his head in his hands, fingers gripping his pink hair like he could somehow squeeze a solution out of his skull. His stomach churned, his breath came short. He had woken up to the worst news imaginable.

One of his vans had been stolen.

Under normal circumstances, that would've been an insurance problem. A pain in the ass, sure, but nothing that couldn't be sorted out with the right paperwork and some creative accounting.

But this wasn't normal. He had lost 9 kilograms.

9 fucking kilograms of premium, high-grade methamphetamine.

Gone.

That wasn't his product. That was Danzo Shimura's. And the old bastard did not tolerate failure.

Kizashi leaned back in his chair, staring up at the ceiling, exhaling shakily. "I'm dead," he whispered to himself. "I'm so fucking dead."

Of all the days for this to happen.

Of all the stupid, reckless decisions he'd made in his life, this had to be the one to finally come back and bury him.

He had cut the security detail. Diverted the funds. All to buy his daughter a nice birthday present.

It had seemed harmless at the time. He'd done it before. No one in their right mind would ever dare to rob Danzo Shimura. His shipments moved untouched because everyone knew better.

And yet... someone did it. Someone—probably with a death wish—robbed the van.

Just who the hell were they?

Kizashi let out a bitter, shaky laugh. He was trying to make sense of it, as if it mattered. As if knowing who did it would change anything.

It wouldn't.

Danzo wasn't going to give a single fuck about who did it. He wasn't going to sit down and talk about how this happened. He wasn't going to offer Kizashi a second chance.

He was going to make an example out of him.

Kizashi swallowed hard, his throat dry as sandpaper. He glanced at the edge of his desk, where a framed photo sat—Sakura, grinning bright and proud in her high school graduation robes, standing beside him.

That had been a little over four years ago.

Back when he was still just a small-time businessman with a fleet of delivery trucks. Back when he had only one foot in the mud. Back when he was merely considering selling his business to one Danzo Shimura. Back when he still told himself he was doing this for her.

His hands trembled as he reached out, picking up the frame, running his thumb over the glass.

"What the hell have I done?" he whispered.

What had he put her through? What had he dragged her into?

He had wanted more. More money, more influence, more power. A better life for himself, a better future for her. That's what he had told himself. That's how he had justified every compromise, every shady deal, every dodgy shipment, every time he let himself sink deeper.

But all he had done was put a target on his back. And now?

Now he was out of options. Danzo was going to kill him. And then what? What would happen to Sakura?

Would she even know why her father never came home? Would she ever find out how he died? Or would she just get some fake, cleaned-up story—an 'accident,' an 'unsolved crime'?

Or worse... would Danzo come for her next?

Kizashi's breath hitched.

No. No. He couldn't let that happen.

Think, Kizashi. THINK!

How could he fix this? How could he get out of this?There was no money. No quick way to pay Danzo back what he had lost. Even if he sold everything he owned, it wouldn't cover the full 2 million Ryo.

Could he run?

No. Danzo had eyes everywhere. Even if he left Konoha, he'd never make it far.

Could he negotiate? What could he even offer? What would be enough?

Kizashi let out another trembling breath, pressing his fingers to his temple.

He had always been a talker. He had always known how to weasel his way out of bad deals, how to sweet-talk his way through trouble.

But Danzo Shimura? Danzo wasn't a businessman. Danzo was a butcher.

His office door clicked. Kizashi's entire body seized up.

No. No, no, no, not yet—

A voice—his secretary. "Sir?"

His heart was hammering in his chest. He could barely breathe. "Who is it?" he croaked out.

His secretary hesitated. "Just a customer."

Kizashi exhaled sharply, his heart still pounding against his ribs. He wasn't safe. Not for long. Not until Danzo got here.

And when he did… That would be it.

Naruto's apartment was dimly lit, the only source of light coming from the television's blue glow. The movie had long since been forgotten, left running in the background.

Hinata was warm against him, her fingers threading through his hair as their lips moved together in a slow, heated rhythm. Her soft breaths mixed with his, their bodies pressed close on the couch, hands fumbling—clumsy, eager, but familiar.

Naruto's hand slid under the fabric of her top, feeling the smoothness of her skin as Hinata's fingers toyed with the hem of his shirt. He shivered when her lips brushed the corner of his jaw before he reclaimed them, his pulse thrumming in his ears.

BZZZT. BZZZT.

Naruto groaned as the vibration of his phone rattled against the coffee table. "You've got to be kidding me," he muttered, forehead dropping against Hinata's shoulder.

She chuckled, breathless, running a hand through his hair. "Who is it?"

Naruto sighed and reached for the phone, barely glancing at the screen. "Probably work."

Hinata hummed in understanding as he sat up, rubbing at his face before answering.

"Yeah?"

Kakashi's voice came through, calm but firm. "Naruto, it's an emergency."

Naruto frowned, glancing at Hinata, who was now watching him with mild curiosity. "What kind of emergency?"

There was a pause.

"Chief Yamato is putting Major Crimes on an urgent case. A van carrying a shipment of imported margarine was stolen last night. It needs to be tracked down immediately."

Naruto blinked. "Margarine?"

"Imported margarine."

Naruto's face remained expressionless. "Kakashi, tell me you didn't just ruin my night for butter."

There was a sigh on the other end. "You know better than that, Naruto."

Naruto pinched the bridge of his nose. Right.

"So whose margarine are we talking about?"

There was a pause. "Danzo Shimura's."

Naruto's brows lifted slightly. Now that… was interesting.

Kakashi gave him a moment to absorb the implications before continuing. "Just get to the station. We'll brief you here."

Naruto clicked his tongue but didn't argue. "Fine. I'll be there soon." He hung up and tossed his phone onto the couch before rubbing his hands down his face.

Hinata, now sitting up properly, folded her legs underneath her. "What was that about?"

Naruto leaned back against the couch with a sigh. "A robbery. A van got hijacked and stolen last night."

Hinata arched an eyebrow. "Since when does the department call you in urgently over a stolen van?"

Naruto scoffed. "Since the shipment inside belonged to probably the most important man in Konoha."

Hinata exhaled slowly, eyes narrowing slightly. "Ah. Money talks."

"You know it."

Hinata adjusted her shirt and smoothed down her hair, now fully out of the mood. "Still… I can't imagine anyone calling in Major Crimes for a missing van."

Naruto huffed out something between a laugh and a sigh. "Yeah, well… we both know it's not really about what was in the van."

Hinata studied him for a moment, then tilted her head. "Is there something specific you're thinking of? Or is this…"

Naruto shook his head, offering a small, tight-lipped smile. "Confidential."

Hinata nodded in understanding. She bit her lip, thinking, then shifted closer, pressing a hand over his. "I know it's frustrating," she said softly. "You work so hard, and sometimes it feels like the system is built for the wrong people. But you're still doing good, Naruto. You're working toward your dream, and that means something."

Naruto turned to look at her, his expression softening. "I'd just like to not feel like I'm serving some people rather than the people every once in a while, y'know?"

"You want to be Police Chief one day, right?" she reminded him. "To live up to your dad's legacy?"

He swallowed, nodding.

Hinata squeezed his hand. "Then don't lose sight of that. Even when things feel unfair."

Naruto sighed, a small smile breaking through his frustration. "You're too good to me."

She smirked. "I know."

He chuckled, then reluctantly stood up, stretching his arms before reaching for his shirt. "I should get going."

Hinata watched as he grabbed his jacket. "I'm guessing you'll be out late?"

He hummed in agreement. "You should come with me so I can drop you home."

Hinata waved off his concern. "Don't worry about it. Tomorrow's Saturday, I'll just wait for you here."

Naruto paused, then leaned down to press a lingering kiss against her lips. "Alright. Don't wait up."

"No promises."

With that, he grabbed his keys and headed for the door. As he stepped out into the night, his mind wandered back to the case.

Who the hell was reckless enough to steal from Danzo Shimura?

Itachi sat on the armchair across Sasuke, but his eyes weren't focused on his brother. The light from the overhead lamp cast lit up the coffee table, where the evidence of their latest crime sat in plain sight.

Neatly sealed plastic bags—still slick with smears of margarine—were stacked in an almost orderly fashion. And inside those bags?

Meth. A lot of it.

Sasuke exhaled slowly, eyes locked on the sheer amount of narcotics in front of them. His mind whirled with the implications—power, money, danger, opportunity.

After a long moment, he finally broke the silence. "Fuck me..."

Itachi, seated across from him, didn't respond. He simply studied the scene, his expression unreadable.

Sasuke turned to his brother, a slow, almost disbelieving grin forming on his face. He leaned back against the couch, rubbing a hand over his jaw. "You're a genius, you know that?" He gestured to the drugs. "Do you have any idea how much we can make off of this? We're set for years."

Itachi's eyes flickered to him, sharp and assessing. "Don't get ahead of yourself."

Sasuke's grin faltered slightly. "What?"

"We're not just selling it."

Sasuke stared at him like he'd lost his mind. "What the hell are you talking about? This is our ticket out, Itachi." He motioned around the apartment. "We wouldn't have to live in this shithole anymore. No more worrying about rent, no more scraping by... this is real money."

Itachi didn't react. Instead, he calmly reached to his side and dropped a thick, worn folder onto the table. Sasuke frowned, glancing down. The folder was old, the edges curled and frayed. He knew exactly what it was.

Their father's investigation on Danzo Shimura.

Itachi tapped the file with two fingers. "Danzo still has other businesses in the city."

Sasuke exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck. "Hold up, are you saying you want us to keep hitting Danzo?"

Itachi nodded. "That's exactly what I'm saying."

Sasuke blinked. "Itachi." He scoffed. "Be serious. We got lucky once. That's it. What the hell are two guys going to do against Danzo fucking Shimura?"

Itachi's gaze didn't waver. "You're thinking about this all wrong."

"Oh, am I?" Sasuke crossed his arms, voice dripping with sarcasm.

Itachi leaned forward, his tone lower now. "We can't just run, Sasuke. You know that. Not from him."

Sasuke's expression darkened slightly, but he didn't argue.

Itachi continued. "We have markers on our backs. It's only a matter of time before Danzo's friends in the department sniff us out, and then we're done." His voice was quiet but firm. "No matter how we look at it, we're living on borrowed time."

Sasuke clenched his jaw. He hated how right Itachi was.

"So tell me," Itachi continued, his eyes pinning Sasuke in place. "How do you want to spend what could be your last few days? Hiding? Running? Partying?"

Silence.

Itachi let it linger, then added, "Or do you want to fight back?"

The words hung in the air over their heads.

Sasuke exhaled through his nose, shaking his head. "You're insane."

Itachi smirked slightly. "Am I? We just made Danzo two million Ryo poorer. All it took was a pistol, a knife, and some nerve."

Sasuke hesitated.

Itachi's smirk faded, his voice turning serious again. "Imagine what we can accomplish if we keep going." He tapped the folder again, opening it slightly, revealing pages upon pages of evidence their father had gathered before his death. Names, locations, shipments, operations—all leading back to Danzo's illicit empire.

Itachi's voice softened, almost coaxing. "You want this, Sasuke. Deep down, you've always wanted this." His fingers brushed the paper. "Revenge for Mom. For Dad."

Sasuke stared at the folder. Itachi was right. He did want revenge.

For months, he'd buried that rage under sarcasm and recklessness, but it had never really left him. It was there. Festering.

And now? Now, he had a chance to do something with it.

The room was silent as Sasuke sat there, processing. Then—he chuckled. A low, dark sound. He leaned forward, bracing his arms on his knees. "Our days are numbered anyway, huh?"

Itachi nodded.

Sasuke exhaled through his nose, shaking his head. "Then I want to live before I die. I want to do something that actually makes me feel fulfilled."

He looked up, meeting Itachi's gaze head-on.

"If we're doing this, we're going all the way. But we'll need a lot more than a pistol and a knife if we're gonna take down as many of Danzo's footprints as we can."

Itachi leaned back slightly, the corners of his mouth curving into something unreadable. "Good thing we already have a solution for that."

Sasuke arched an eyebrow.

Itachi's smirk widened just a fraction. "One benefit of being a cop once is knowing where all the filthiest rats in the city like to play."

Sasuke's amusement faded, his voice turning serious again. "We do this for Mom and Dad."

Itachi nodded once, resolute. "We make Danzo pay."

The university campus buzzed with life—students lounging on benches, chatting in groups, or rushing off to their next class.

Sakura adjusted her backpack as she walked alongside Tenten, her friend mid-rant about one of their professors.

"I'm telling you, Professor Asahi has it out for me," Tenten huffed, flipping her dark brown ponytail over her shoulder. "I swear I turned in that assignment on time, but no—suddenly it's missing."

Sakura laughed, shaking her head. "Maybe he's just bad at organizing? You know how old-school he is. I bet he still keeps grades in a physical notebook."

"That's exactly the problem! Who still does that? What if he loses it? What if a strong breeze comes through his office and—"

Sakura's phone vibrated in her pocket, cutting Tenten off. She pulled it out, glancing at the screen. Unknown Number.

Her brows furrowed. "Weird."

Tenten raised an eyebrow. "Spam call?"

"Maybe." Still, curiosity got the better of her, and she answered. "Hello?"

There was a brief pause.

"Sakura."

Sakura's breath caught in her throat at the sound of her father's voice. "Dad?"

Her father, Kizashi, wasn't one to call out of the blue, let alone from an unknown number. He was usually the type to text her goofy dad jokes or send random cat videos. Something about his tone felt… wrong.

She smiled faintly, trying to brush off the unease creeping up her spine. "Hey! What's up? You callin' to finally take me out for that fancy dinner you keep promising?"

Kizashi didn't laugh. Didn't joke.

"Listen to me." His voice was tight. Urgent. "You need to leave Konoha. The country, if you can."

Sakura blinked. "What?"

Tenten gave her a questioning look, but she barely registered it.

Her father kept going, his words rushed, desperate. "Pack whatever you can carry and go. As fast as possible. I don't care where, just get far away."

Sakura's stomach twisted. "Dad, what are you talking about?"

"I'm sorry," he breathed. "I'm so sorry for dragging you into this. But you have to trust me. Let me help you one last time."

Sakura's pulse spiked. Her father never talked like this. Never sounded so… scared.

"Dad, you're freaking me out," she said, gripping the phone tighter. "What's going on? What do you mean, 'dragging me into this'?"

Kizashi exhaled sharply. "There are people after me, Sakura. And if they come for me, I know they'll come for you next."

Her blood turned ice-cold. "People?" she repeated. "Who? What the hell did you do?"

"I can't explain right now," he said quickly. "Just... just don't tell anyone. Don't go to the police. No one." His voice dropped lower, as if he was afraid someone might be listening. "I sent you some money to help you get out. Pull it out in cash, before they track you."

Sakura's breath came out shaky, her hands beginning to tremble. "Dad, please... you're scaring me."

"I know," he murmured, his tone suddenly softer. "I'm sorry, sweetheart."

Sakura bit her lip, her heartbeat pounding in her ears.

Her father sighed, his voice heavy with something that sounded dangerously close to defeat.

"I was gonna get you that nice gift for your birthday," he murmured. "I really was. I'm sorry I didn't keep my promise."

Sakura's throat tightened. "Dad…"

"Stay safe. I love you."

Click.

The line went dead. And Sakura's heart stopped.

For a moment, she just stood there, the phone still pressed to her ear, as if willing his voice to come back.

"Dad?" she called, breath hitching. "Dad?! No, wait—Dad!"

Nothing.

Her hands shook violently. Her chest ached with panic, frustration, and overwhelming confusion.

"Sakura?"

She snapped her head up, suddenly remembering where she was. Tenten was staring at her, eyes wide with concern. "What's wrong?"

Sakura opened her mouth, but no words came out. Her thoughts were a mess. She couldn't explain this. She didn't even understand it herself.

"I-I have to go," she stammered, shoving her phone into her pocket.

"Sakura, wait." Tenten reached for her, but she was already moving.

Her pulse thundered in her ears as she all but ran toward the parking lot, her breath short and ragged.

What the hell is happening?

Her father's words replayed in her head like a mantra—

There are people after me.
If they come for me, they'll come for you next.
Don't tell anyone. Don't go to the police.

Her stomach churned. Who was after him? What had he done?

Sweat pricked her skin as she reached her car, her hands fumbling for the keys. She climbed into the driver's seat of her white Toyota RAV4, slamming the door shut. Her breaths were uneven, her fingers trembling against the steering wheel.

She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to think. But nothing made sense.

What was she supposed to do? Who could she even turn to? What was even happening?

She didn't know. All she knew was that her father was in danger.

And now... so was she.