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As news spread that Chiyo would temporarily assume the mantle of Kazekage, the atmosphere across the shinobi world shifted almost imperceptibly.
Iwagakure's forces along the Land of Grass border quietly pulled back once more. The tense stalemate with Konoha loosened, like a bowstring gradually losing its strain.
Under this calmer sky, Hiruzen began his return to Konoha.
He did not go straight to the Hokage building.
Instead, he walked first to the Shimura clan's residence.
The courtyard still bore blackened scars—charred marks etched into stone where fire had once devoured flesh and ambition alike. Hiruzen stood there for a long time, his gaze resting on the indelible burn at the center.
"You ultimately… still came to this."
His voice was quiet, almost lost to the wind.
'If you had stopped sooner… even at the very end… perhaps we could have sat together one last time. Spoke of our teacher. Spoke of the past.
The younger generation is already capable of carrying the future.
Why couldn't you honor Sensei's final wish and step down peacefully, Danzo?'
The light shifted. The courtyard's shadows lengthened.
Only then did Hiruzen turn and walk slowly toward the Hokage Building.
Inside the office, the Hokage's seat stood empty.
Tsunade was nowhere to be seen.
Hiruzen didn't seem surprised. His eyes drifted instead to the other desk, where a familiar black-haired figure was buried beneath stacks of paperwork.
A faint smile tugged at his lips.
"You rest for half a year, and now you're paying it back with overtime?"
Rosh I didn't look up from the document in his hand.
"I made a request of someone," he replied calmly. "So I have to stay and fulfill my end, Sandaime."
Hiruzen let out a soft, knowing chuckle.
"Since childhood, Tsunade's dream was to travel the world. For a few years, she even managed to achieve that wish."
"The fact that you brought her back… likely speaks more to my own inadequacies than anything else."
Roshi paused, then answered carefully.
"You did everything you could in your position."
"Ho ho... You grow less polite by the year, Roshi."
"You're a tolerant old man," Roshi replied evenly. "That's why I dare to be."
Hiruzen laughed again, the wrinkles at his eyes smoothing.
"To be judged kindly by the young… perhaps this old man hasn't failed entirely."
His gaze sharpened.
"Tell me honestly. Have you truly never considered becoming Hokage?"
"No," Roshi answered immediately. "And I don't intend to."
There wasn't a flicker of hesitation.
Occasionally taking on heavy work was one thing.
Living buried beneath it was another.
With his strength and influence, there was nothing the title of Hokage could grant him that he didn't already possess. And judging by the endless meetings, negotiations, and ceremonies… even the thought was exhausting.
Hiruzen watched him quietly.
"You are not reckless," the third Hokage said at last. "Yet at moments like this, the difference between our generation and yours becomes painfully clear."
"If you truly refuse the title, then for the foreseeable future, you must ensure Tsunade does not resign."
He spoke solemnly.
"If she runs off, the village cannot continue to indulge your wishes."
"With your current prestige, only Jiraiya can rival you outright. Kakashi still needs time."
"Can you accept that responsibility?"
Roshi nodded once.
"Agreed."
As for Tsunade's opinion?
Absent parties forfeited the complaint.
The fault lay with whoever chose not to attend.
Having concluded the matter of succession, Hiruzen lowered himself onto the sofa and drew out his pipe. He packed it with slow, practiced motions, lit it, and inhaled deeply.
Smoke curled upward in soft gray spirals.
Once. Twice. Three times.
The office gradually filled with the faint scent of tobacco.
"Sandaime."
"Hmm?"
"There are some matters I'd like your counsel on."
Hiruzen's eyes drifted toward the mountain of documents on Roshi's desk. He turned the pipe between his fingers thoughtfully.
"I have other things to attend to."
Even if he didn't mind working until his final breath—he had done so his entire life—this was different.
Tsunade and Roshi were already alternating to cover one person's workload, and each was clearly searching for chances to slack off.
If he voluntarily picked up more now, wouldn't he look like a complete fool?
He rose slowly.
"I think I'll go check on Naruto."
"And perhaps train Konohamaru a bit."
A faint smile touched his lips as he stepped toward the door.
Let the young shoulder the future.
For now, this old man would enjoy a quieter battlefield.
—
This year, the number of teams dispatched by Sunagakure was noticeably larger than usual.
Not because they wished to better cooperate with Konoha's arrangements for the Chūnin Exams.
But because "participation" provided the perfect excuse,.
With Konoha's tacit approval, they could move openly through the Land of Rivers, bringing with them far more goods than any ordinary Genin team ever could.
In previous years, such trade had been little more than a side activity for a handful of Genin—small-scale, personal, barely worth mentioning.
But this year was different.
Fresh from defeat, Sunagakure had been restricted from operating within the Land of Rivers. Official trade channels were tightened. Patrol routes were watched. Every movement scrutinized.
Yet as "official participants" en route to Konoha?
They could carry cargo.
They could sell.
They could move.
All they needed to do was slow their pace slightly. Ninjas traveled swiftly by nature; even if they lingered to unload goods, a burst of speed later would still ensure they reached Konoha before the competition began.
As for the risk of unsold merchandise?
Sunagakure's reputation among civilians had not collapsed. Even during their incursion into the Land of Rivers, they had not plundered towns. Grain had been purchased with gold—even if the negotiations were forceful.
A day or two of retail trade, then bulk sales to established merchants—enough to turn a profit without raising suspicion.
Konoha, for its part, imposed few restrictions.
Even when Sunagakure teams planned purchases at the outdoor venues near Konoha, the guards turned a practiced blind eye.
After sternly reiterating this year's upper limit on personal procurement to his Genin, Baki approached the Konoha Chūnin stationed nearby and formally submitted a request to enter Konoha Village proper.
Approval came swiftly.
He wasted no time.
Upon entering the village, Baki headed directly toward the Hokage Tower.
Inside the reception room, he once again found himself seated across from Roshi.
"Baki. Please sit."
Roshi remained seated behind the desk.
Baki obeyed without hesitation.
"There is first a proposal from Kumogakure," Roshi began, calmly relaying Samui's suggestion—that Sunagakure be invited to join the joint exchange activities currently shared between Konoha and Kumogakure.
He outlined the structure. The intent. The potential.
"In Konoha's view," Roshi concluded, "expanding the scope of exchange strengthens alliances."
"The specifics can be discussed jointly once Suna has reached an internal consensus."
For Sunagakure, this was excellent news.
Even if they could not immediately share in next year's profits, simply being integrated into the system meant legitimacy.
A legitimate channel to leave the Land of Wind.
A legitimate path through the Land of Rivers.
A legitimate presence within the Land of Fire.
Especially now, while Konoha's frontline outposts still remained stationed along the Wind border, such sanctioned exchange was invaluable.
Baki did not hesitate.
"Sunagakure is willing to participate."
Roshi merely nodded and made a notation on the document before him, as if recording something inevitable.
Silence settled over the room.
Baki sat upright, hands resting on his knees.
Roshi did not immediately continue.
When he finally spoke again, his next question struck like a stone dropped into still water.
"Has Sunagakure," he asked evenly, "ever considered transforming the land of the Land of Wind?"
Baki blinked.
"…Transforming the land?"
"The desert," Roshi clarified. "Water. Agriculture. Forestry."
He met Baki's gaze directly.
"Have you considered changing the foundation upon which Sunagakure stands?"
Land transformation?
In the Land of Wind?
That vast country of endless dunes and devouring sandstorms?
Baki's brows tightened almost imperceptibly.
"Roshi-san… what exactly do you mean?" he asked carefully, measuring every word.
"Exactly what I said."
Roshi's tone remained unhurried.
Baki opened his mouth—then closed it again. For a moment, even this seasoned jōnin could not immediately find the right response.
"Baki," Roshi continued, "have you heard of Ninshū?"
Baki inclined his head slightly. "According to legend, it was founded by the Sage of Six Paths—the origin of all shinobi. "
"Originally," Roshi said, "Ninshū was not created for war." It was meant to accompany the Sage in healing a wounded world—restoring land devastated by conflict."
His gaze was steady.
"But survival and competition reshaped it. Ninshū faded. Clans rose. Villages formed. And what began as restoration became warfare."
He paused.
"So I ask again—has Sunagakure ever considered returning to its origin, transforming even a portion of the Land of Wind?"
Silence stretched between them.
Sunagakure had not been born from idealism. It had been born from necessity—after Konoha's establishment, after the balance of power shifted. The shinobi of the Land of Wind had united to avoid being swallowed.
Trade could be attempted. Political maneuvering could be attempted.
But transforming the land itself?
How much manpower would that require? How many years? Decades?
And what would they eat in the meantime?
Baki exhaled slowly. "Roshi-san… even during the era of Ninshū, the Land of Wind was never fertile."
"To transform such terrain—even with shinobi techniques—the time, the technology… Sunagakure is already struggling to survive. We do not possess the luxury for such a gamble."
Roshi showed no irritation at the refusal.
"Alone, of course you cannot," he said lightly. "Especially with the Land of Wind Daimyō's funding declining year by year."
Baki's expression tightened.
"Have you considered," Roshi continued calmly, "why his support decreases?"
A bitter smile flickered across Baki's face. "Because the oases shrink while the number of shinobi grows. In peacetime, Sunagakure's population expands—but its land does not."
"And the spoils of war?" Roshi added softly. "Not a single grain taken from the Land of Rivers this year will reach the common people of the Land of Wind, will it?"
Baki did not answer.
"So," Roshi leaned back slightly, his posture relaxed yet his eyes sharp, "has Sunagakure ever truly done something for the people of the Land of Wind?"
He waved a hand dismissively.
"Of course, I am only a Konoha shinobi. Idle talk."
Then his tone shifted—subtly.
"When the Fourth Kazekage died, I told him this was never about personal grievance, and I made him a promise."
"I would offer Sunagakure some private assistance."
Baki's heartbeat stuttered.
Assistance?
From the very man who had crushed their forces and killed their Kazekage?
He stared at Roshi, searching for mockery, for hidden barbs.
He found none.
"There's no need to look so wary," Roshi said evenly. "If Sunagakure turns inward—focuses on strengthening the Land of Wind—Konoha's burden also lightens. Stability benefits us both."
"Land transformation is not achieved in a year. Or five."
"Ten. Twenty. Perhaps longer."
Baki let out a dry laugh. "Such a vision is difficult to sell to a village seeking immediate recovery."
"I am stating facts," Roshi replied. "And here is another."
"In the future, Sunagakure will no longer gain a single inch of territory through war."
The words were not a threat.
They were a declaration of reality.
Baki lowered his head slightly. The one speaking was only seventeen.
And yet.
"The assistance you mentioned…" he prompted carefully.
"I have cultivated plant strains with exceptional vitality," Roshi said. "I will continue refining them."
"If Sunagakure is willing to commit to a long-term transformation plan, Konoha is prepared to provide technical support."
He did not hide the strategic calculation behind it.
"No matter how much desert you reclaim, it will not equal the Land of Fire's natural abundance. Your ceiling remains lower than ours."
"But if more stable oases emerge," he continued, "if agriculture becomes less fragile... even a financially strained Daimyō would grit his teeth and invest."
Baki was silent for a long moment.
The idea was audacious.
Dangerous.
And yet—If Sunagakure could anchor its future not in conquest, but in cultivation…
If the desert itself could be made to yield…
Then perhaps the cycle of desperation would finally break.
He looked up at Roshi again.
"What does Konoha truly want in return?"
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